#EnglishWriters
Once, early in the morning, Beelz… With care his sweet person adornin… He put on his Sunday clothes. II. He drew on a boot to hide his hoof…
Is it the Eternal Triune, is it… Who dares arrest the wheels of des… And plunge me in the lowest Hell… Will not the lightning’s blast des… Will not steel drink the blood-lif…
The fitful alternations of the rai… When the chill wind, languid as wi… Of its own heavy moisture, here an… Drives through the gray and beamle…
Here, my dear friend, is a new boo… I have already dedicated two To other friends, one female and o… What you are, is a thing that I m… What can this be to those who prai…
From the Greek. Eagle! why soarest thou above that… To what sublime and star-ypaven ho… Floatest thou?— I am the image of swift Plato’s s…
MY faint spirit was sitting in th… Of thy looks, my love; It panted for thee like the hin… For the brooks, my love. Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the…
Orphan Hours, the Year is dead, Come and sigh, come and weep! Merry Hours, smile instead, For the Year is but asleep. See, it smiles as it is sleeping,
Maiden, quench the glare of sorrow Struggling in thine haggard eye: Firmness dare to borrow From the wreck of destiny; For the ray morn’s bloom revealing
Thy dewy looks sink in my breast; Thy gentle words stir poison there… Thou hast disturbed the only rest That was the portion of despair! Subdued to Duty’s hard control,
When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead — When the cloud is scattered, The rainbow’s glory is shed. When the lute is broken,
Wealth and dominion fade into the… Of the great sea of human right an… When once from our possession they… But love, though misdirected, is a… The things which are immortal, and…
Oh! there are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fa… As star-beams among twilight trees… Such lovely ministers to meet
Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear? Wherefore feed and clothe and save…
To Mary ' ' So now my summer task is ended, M… And I return to thee, mine own he… As to his Queen some victor Knigh… Earning bright spoils for her inch…