This is now—this was erst, Proposition the first—and Problem… On a given finite Line Which must no way incline; To describe an equi—
Now as Heaven is my Lot, they’re… Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum 'Tis all Botheration, & Hell… With fun, jeering
Spirit who sweepest the wild harp… It is most hard, with an untrouble… Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear… Yet, mine eye fixed on Heaven’s u… Long had I listened, free from mo…
William, my teacher, my friend! de… Smooth out the folds of my letter,… Place it on table or desk ; and yo… Gently sustain them in air, and ex… Rest it a moment on each of the fo…
My eyes make pictures when they’re… I see a fountain large and fair, A Willow and a ruined Hut, And thee, and me, and Mary there. O Mary! make thy gentle lap our p…
(Act V, scene i) And this place our forefathers mad… This is the process of our Love a… To each poor brother who offends a… Most innocent, perhaps—and what if…
Dormi, Jesu! Mater ridet Quae tam dulcem somnum videt, Dormi, Jesu! blandule! Si non dormis, Mater plorat, Inter fila cantans orat,
The sole true Something—This! In… It frightens Ghosts as Ghosts her… For skimming in the wake it mock’d… Of the old Boat-God for his Fart… Tho’ Irus’ Ghost itself he ne’er…
When youth his fairy reign began, Ere sorrow had proclaimed me man; While peace the present hour begui… And all the lovely prospect smiled… Then, Mary! 'mid my lightsome gle…
Composed while climbing the left a… With many a pause and oft reverted… I climb the Coomb’s ascent: sweet… Warble in shade their wild-wood me… Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soot…
In Köhln, a town of monks and bon… And pavements fang’d with murderou… And rags, and hags, and hideous we… I counted two and seventy stenches… All well defined, and several stin…
Thou bleedest, my poor heart! and… Reas’ning I ponder with a scornfu… And probe thy sore wound sternly,… Swollen be mine eye and dim with h… Why didst thou listen to Hope’s w…
With Donne, whose muse on dromeda… Wreathe iron pokers into true—love… Rhyme’s sturdy cripple, fancy’s ma… Wit’s forge and fire—blast, meanin…
It was some spirit, Sheridan! tha… O’er thy young mind such wildly-va… My soul hath marked thee in her sh… Thy temples with Hymettian flowre… And sweet thy voice, as when o’er…
Sister of love-lorn Poets, Philom… How many Bards in city garret pen… While at their window they with do… Mark the faint lamp-beam on the ke… And listen to the drowsy cry of W…