#ArtsAndSciences #EnglishWriters #Epigram #Nature Music,
On my darling’s bosom Has dropped a living rosy bud, Fair as brilliant Hesper Against the brimming flood. She handles him,
With love exceeding a simple love… That glide in grasses and rubble o… Or change their perch on a beat of… From branch to branch, only restfu… Or, bristled, curl at a touch thei…
Angelic love that stoops with heav… To meet its earthly mate; Heroic love that to its sphere’s e… Can dare to join its fate With one beloved devoted human hea…
Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in hi… Has earth beneath his wings: from… He views the rosy dawn. In vain t… The fatal web below while far he f… But when the arrow strikes him, th…
Not yet had History’s Aetna smoke… And low the Gallic Giantess lay e… While overhead in ordered set and… Her kingly crowns immutably defile… Effulgent on funereal piled
In our old shipwrecked days there… When in the firelight steadily agl… Joined slackly, we beheld the red… Among the clicking coals. Our lib… That eve was left to us: and hushe…
I would I were the drop of rain That falls into the dancing rill, For I should seek the river then, And roll below the wooded hill, Until I reached the sea.
It ended, and the morrow brought t… Her eyes were guilty gates, that l… By shutting all too zealous for th… Each sucked a secret, and each wor… But, oh, the bitter taste her beau…
Yonder’s the man with his life in… Legs on the march for whatever the… Or to the slaughter, or to the mai… Getting the dole of a dog for pay. Laurels he clasps in the words ‘du…
Love is winged for two, In the worst he weathers, When their hearts are tied; But if they divide, O too true!
Beneath the vans of doom did men p… Heroic who came out; for round the… A wavering phantom’s red volcano t… With league-long lizard tail and f… II.
Distraction is the panacea, Sir! I hear my oracle of Medicine say. Doctor! that same specific yesterd… I tried, and the result will not d… A second trial. Is the devil’s li…
Fire in her ashes Ireland feels And in her veins a glow of heat. To her the lost old time, appeals For resurrection, good to greet: Not as a shape with spectral eyes,
Whate’er I be, old England is my… So there’s my answer to the judges… I’m nothing of a fox, nor of a lam… I don’t know how to bleat nor how… I’m for the nation!
The clouds are withdrawn And their thin-rippled mist, That stream’d o’er the lawn To the drowsy-eyed west. Cold and grey