#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury #XVIIICentury #Imagery #Pastoral
If I had but two little wings And were a little feathery bird, To you I’d fly, my dear! But thoughts like these are idle t… And I stay here.
A blessed lot hath he, who having… His youth and early manhood in the… And turmoil of the world, retreats… With cares that move, not agitate… To the same dwelling where his fat…
I sigh, fair injured stranger! for… But what shall sighs avail thee?… ‘Mid all the ’pomp and circumstanc… Shivers in nakedness. Unbidden, s… Sad recollections of Hope’s garis…
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…
When British Freedom for an happi… Spread her broad wings, that flutt… Erskine! thy voice she heard, and… Sublime of hope! For dreadless th… (Thy censer glowing with the hallo…
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…
The body, Eternal Shadow of the finite Soul… The Soul’s self-symbol, its image… Its own yet not itself—
Tho’ roused by that dark Visir ri… Have driven our Priestly o’er the… Tho’ Superstition and her wolfish… Bay his mild radiance, impotent an… Calm in his halls of Brightness h…
As late each flower that sweetest… I pluck’d, the Garden’s pride! Within the petals of a Rose A sleeping Love I 'spied. Around his brows a beamy wreath
And this reft house is that the wh… Lamented Jack! And here his malt… Cautious in vain! These rats that… Squeak, not unconscious of their f… Did ye not see her gleaming thro’…
Now as Heaven is my Lot, they’re… Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum 'Tis all Botheration, & Hell… With fun, jeering
Hast thou a charm to stay the morn… In his steep course? So long he s… On thy bald awful head, O sovran… The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most a…
... Finally, what is Reason? You… answer:— Whene’er the mist, that stands 'tw… [Sublimates] to a pure transparenc… That intercepts no light and adds…
A Conversation Poem, April, 1798 No cloud, no relique of the sunken… Distinguishes the West, no long t… Of sullen light, no obscure trembl… Come, we will rest on this old mos…
Well! If the Bard was weather—wis… The grand old ballad of Sir Patri… This night, so tranquil now, will… Unroused by winds, that ply a busi… Than those which mould yon cloud i…
