#EnglishWriters
And has the earth lost its so spac… The sky its blue circumference abo… That in this little chamber there… Both earth and heaven—my universe… All that my God can give me, or r…
Is there a bitter pang for love re… O God! The dead love doth not cos… Than the alive, the loving, the be… Not yet, not yet beyond all hopes… Would I were laid
Along the Woodford road there com… Of wheels, and Mr. Rounding’s nea… Struggles along, drawn by a pair o… With Reverend Mr. Crow and six s… Who ever and anon declare their jo…
My heart is sick with longing, tho… On hope; Time goes with such a he… That neither brings nor takes from… As if he slept—forgetting his old… For, as in sunshine only we can re…
One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly,
A lake and a fairy boat To sail in the moonlight clear, - And merrily we would float From the dragons that watch us her… Thy gown should be snow-white silk
I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon
The swallow with summer Will wing o’er the seas, The wind that I sigh to Will visit thy trees. The ship that it hastens
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold Molten, graven, hammered and rolle… Heavy to get and light to hold, Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold…
Mother of light! how fairly dost t… Over those hoary crests, divinely… Art thou that huntress of the silv… Fabled of old? Or rather dost tho… Those cloudy summits thence to gaz…
Ah me! those old familiar bounds! That classic house, those classic… My pensive thought recalls! What tender urchins now confine, What little captives now repine,
"Coming events cast their shadow b… I had a vision in the summer light… Sorrow was in it, and my inward si… Ached with sad images. The touch… Gushed down my cheeks:—the figured…
O Lady, leave thy silken thread And flowery tapestrie: There’s living roses on the bush, And blossoms on the tree; Stoop where thou wilt, thy careles…
The Autumn is old, The sere leaves are flying;— He hath gather’d up gold, And now he is dying;— Old Age, begin sighing!
Oh, when I was a tiny boy, My days and nights were full of jo… My mates were blithe and kind!— No wonder that I sometimes sigh, And dash the tear-drop from my eye…