#EnglishWriters
I ask not that my bed of death From bands of greedy heirs be free… For these besiege the latest breat… Of fortune’s favoured sons, not me… I ask not each kind soul to keep
TRISTRAM IS she not come? The messenger wa… Prop me upon the pillows once agai… Raise me, my Page: this cannot lo… Christ! what a night! how the slee…
Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Gree… Long since, saw Byron’s struggle… But one such death remain’d to com… The last poetic voice is dumb. What shall be said o’er Wordswort…
‘In harmony with Nature’? Restles… Who with such heat dost preach wha… When true, the last impossibility; To be like Nature strong, like Na… Know, man hath all which Nature h…
A region desolate and wild, Black, chafing water: and afloat, And lonely as a truant child In a waste wood, a single boat: No mast, no sails are set thereon;
That son of Italy who tried to bl… Ere Dante came, the trump of sacr… In his light youth amid a festal t… Sate with his bride to see a publi… Fair was the bride, and on her fro…
Vain is the effort to forget. Some day I shall be cold, I know, As is the eternal moon-lit snow Of the high Alps, to which I go: But ah, not yet! not yet!
In the deserted, moon-blanched str… How lonely rings the echo of my fe… Those windows, which I gaze at, f… Silent and white, unopening down, Repellent as the world,—but see,
Mist clogs the sunshine. Smoky dwarf houses Hem me round everywhere; A vague dejection Weighs down my soul.
Affections, Instincts, Principles… Impulse and Reason, Freedom and… So men, unravelling God’s harmoni… Rend in a thousand shreds this lif… Vain labour! Deep and broad, wher…
A YEAR had flown, and o’er the s… In Cornwall, Tristram and queen… In 3 King Marc’s chapel, in Tynt… There in a ship they bore those lo… The young surviving Iseult, one b…
I too have suffer’d: yet I know She is not cold, though she seems… She is not cold, she is not light; But our ignoble souls lack might. She smiles and smiles, and will no…
Why, when the World’s great mind Hath finally inclin’d, Why, you say, Critias, be debatin… Why, with these mournful rhymes Learn’d in more languid climes,
Coldly, sadly descends The autumn-evening. The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of wither’d leaves, and the elms, Fade into dimness apace,
Foil’d by our fellow-men, depress’… We leave the brutal world to take… And, Patience! in another life, w… The world shall be thrust down, an… And will not, then, the immortal a…
