#English
’Tis well you think me truly one o… Whose sense discerns the lovelines… For surely as I feel the bird tha… Behind the leaves, or dawn as it u… Or the rich bee rejoicing as he go…
Jenny kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in… Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,
Robin and his merry men : Lived just like the birds; They had almost as many tracks as… : And whistles and songs as words. Up they were with the earliest sig…
Reader! what soul that laoves a ve… The spring return, nor glow like y… Hear the quick birds, and see the… Nor long to utter his melodious wi… This more than ever leaps into the…
It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind, Thus to be topped with leaves;—to… Of honour-shaded thought,—an influ… As from great nature’s fingers, an… With her old, sacred, verdurous iv…
Open the window, and let the air Freshly blow upon face and hair, And fill the room, as it fills the… With the breath of the rain’s swee… Hark! the burthen, swift and prone…
It flows through old hushed Egypt… Like some grave mighty thought thr… And times and things, as in that v… Keeping along it their eternal sta… Caves, pillars, pyramids, the shep…
Huzza, my boys! our friends the D… Our good old friends, and burst th… Aye, and have done it without bloo… Like men, to sense as well as free… The moment, I’ll be sworn, that O…
You strange, astonished-looking, a… Dreary-mouthed, gaping wretches of… Gulping salt-water everlastingly, Cold-blooded, though with red your… And mute, though dwellers in the r…
Ye brave, enduring Englishmen, Who dash through fire and flood, And spend with equal thoughtlessne… Your money and your blood, I sing of that black season,
There is May in books forever; May will part from Spenser never; May’s in Milton, May’s in Prior, May’s in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer; May’s in all the Italian books:—
How sweet it were, if without feeb… Or dying of the dreadful beauteous… An angel came to us, and we could… To see him issue from the silent a… At evening in our room, and bend o…
Amazing monster! that, for aught… With the first sight of thee didst… For ever stare! O flat and shocki… Grimly divided from the breast bel… Thou that on dry land horribly dos…
I have been reading Pomfret’s “Ch… A pretty kind of—sort of—kind of t… Not much a verse, and poem none at… Yet, as they say, extremely natura… And yet I know not. There’s an ar…
The Deed of Blood is o’er! And, hark, the Trumpet’s mournful… Low murmurs round it a Note of De… The Mighty are no more! How solemn slow that distant Groa…