#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury #XVIIICentury #Imagery #RhymedStanza
It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glitte… Now wherefore stopp’st thou me? The Bridegroom’s doors are opened…
Sweet flower! that peeping from th… Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange… This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse,… Hath borrowed Zephyr’s voice, and… With blue voluptuous eye) alas poo…
Edmund! thy grave with aching eye… And inly groan for heaven’s poor o… 'Tis tempest all or gloom: in earl… If gifted with the Ithuriel lance… We force to start amid her feigned…
Thus far my scanty brain hath buil… Elaborate and swelling; Â yet the… Not owns it. From thy spirit-brea… I ask not now, my friend! the aidi… Tedious to thee, and from thy anxi…
How warm this woodland wild Reces… Love surely hath been breathing he… And this sweet bed of heath, my de… Swells up, then sinks with faint c… As if to have you yet more near.
Thou gentle Look, that didst my s… Why hast thou left me? Still in s… Revisit my sad heart, auspicious… As falls on closing flowers the lu… What time, in sickly mood, at part…
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…
Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given… She sent the gentle sleep from He… That slid into my soul.
And in Life’s noisiest hour, There whispers still the ceaseless… The heart’s Self-solace and solil… You mould my Hopes, you fashion m… And to the leading Love-throb in…
Resembles Life what once was held… Too ample in itself for human sigh… An absolute Self—an element ungro… All, that we see, all colours of a… [Image]By encroach of darkness ma…
Maid of my love! sweet Genevieve! In beauty’s light you glide along; Your eye is like the star of eve, And sweet your voice, as seraph’s… Yet not your heavenly beauty gives
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…
'Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrane! (So call him, for so mingling blam… And smiles with anxious looks, his… Masking his birth-name, wont to ch… His wild-wood fancy and impetuous…
How long will ye round me be swell… O ye blue-tumbling waves of the se… Not always in caves was my dwellin… Nor beneath the cold blast of the… Thro’ the high-sounding halls of…
