#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury #XVIIICentury #Alliteration #Couplet #Imagery #Metaphor
Author. A lovely form there sate beside my… And such a feeding calm its presen… A tender love so pure from earthly… That I unnethe the fancy might co…
O! I do love thee, meek Simplicit… For of thy lays the lulling simple… Goes to my heart, and soothes each… Distress tho’ small, yet haply gre… 'Tis true, on Lady Fortune’s gent…
First Voice ‘But tell me, tell me… Thy soft response renewing— What makes that ship drive on so f… What is the ocean doing?’ Second Voice ‘Still as a slave be…
Mild Splendor of the various-vest… Mother of wildly-working visions!… I watch thy gliding, while with wa… Thy weak eye glimmers through a fl… And when thou lovest thy pale orb…
Unchanged within, to see all chang… Is a blank lot and hard to bear, n… Yet why at others’ Wanings should… Then only might’st thou feel a jus… Hadst thou withheld thy love or hi…
Near the lone pile with ivy oversp… Fast by the rivulet’s sleep-persua… Where 'sleeps the moonlight’ on yo… O humbly press that consecrated gr… For there does Edmund rest, the l…
He too has flitted from his secret… Hope’s last and dearest child with… Has flitted from me, like the warm… That makes false promise of a plac… To the tired Pilgrim’s still beli…
The body, Eternal Shadow of the finite Soul… The Soul’s self-symbol, its image… Its own yet not itself—
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…
It may indeed be phantasy, when I Essay to draw from all created thi… Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that c… And trace in leaves and flowers th… Lessons of love and earnest piety.
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…
Come, come thou bleak December wi… And blow the dry leaves from the t… Flash, like a Love-thought, thro’… And take a Life that wearies me.
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…
Do you ask what the birds say? Th… The linnet, and thrush say, ‘I lo… In the winter they’re silent, the… What it says I don’t know, but it… But green leaves and blossoms, and…
All thoughts, all passions, all de… Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I
