#EnglishWriters
From The Italian Of Dante Ye who intelligent the Third Heav… Hear the discourse which is within… Which cannot be declared, it seems… The Heaven whose course follows y…
There is a warm and gentle atmosph… About the form of one we love, and… As in a tender mist our spirits ar… Wrapped in the of that which is to… The health of life’s own life—
‘O happy Earth, reality of Heaven… To which those restless souls that… Throng through the human universe,… Thou consummation of all mortal ho… Thou glorious prize of blindly wor…
Thy look of love has power to calm The stormiest passion of my soul; Thy gentle words are drops of balm In life’s too bitter bowl; No grief is mine, but that alone
Month after month the gathered rai… Drenching yon secret Aethiopian d… And from the desert’s ice-girt p… Where Frost and Heat in strange e… On Atlas, fields of moist snow ha…
SCENE.—A Ravine of Icy Rocks i… Prometheus. Monarch of Gods and Dæmons, and a… But One, who throng those bright… Which Thou and I alone of living…
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…
There late was One within whose s… As light and wind within some deli… That fades amid the blue noon’s bu… Genius and death contended. None… The sweetness of the joy which mad…
Death is here and death is there, Death is busy everywhere, All around, within, beneath, Above is death—and we are death. II.
Good-night? ah! no; the hour is il… Which severs those it should unite… Let us remain together still, Then it will be good night. How can I call the lone night goo…
And where is truth? On tombs? for… Has been my heart’and thy dead m… Has lain from childhood, many a ch… Unchangingly preserved and buried…
A golden-winged Angel stood Before the Eternal Judgement-seat… His looks were wild, and Devils’… Stained his dainty hands and feet. The Father and the Son
Emily, A ship is floating in the harbour… A wind is hovering o’er the mounta… There is a path on the sea’s azure… No keel has ever plough’d that pat…
Hopes, that swell in youthful brea… Live not through the waste of time… Love’s rose a host of thorns inves… Cold, ungenial is the clime, Where its honours blow.
Ah! sweet is the moonbeam that sle… And sweet the mild rush of the sof… And sweet is the glimpse of yon di… 'Neath the verdant arcades of yon… But sweeter than all was thy tone…