#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
PEOPLE of England, ye who toil… Who reap the harvests which are no… Who weave the clothes which your o… And for your own take the inclemen… Who build warm houses . . .
At the creation of the Earth Pleasure, that divinest birth, From the soil of Heaven did rise, Wrapped in sweet wild melodies— Like an exhalation wreathing
Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth, Thou from whose immortal bosom Gods and men and beasts have birth… Leaf and blade, and bud and blosso… Breathe thine influence most divin…
No trump tells thy virtues’the g… With thy dust shall remain unpollu… Till thy foes, by the world and by… Shall pass like a mist from the li… VII.
What! alive and so bold, O Earth? Art thou not overbold? What! leapest thou forth as of old In the light of thy morning mirth, The last of the flock of the starr…
Thou living light that in thy rain… Clothest this naked world; and ove… And Earth and air, and all the sh… In peopled darkness of this wondro… The Spirit of thy glory dost diff…
Oh! did you observe the Black Can… And did you observe his frown? He goeth to say the midnight mass, In holy St. Edmond’s town. He goeth to sing the burial chaunt…
Tell me, thou Star, whose wings o… Speed thee in thy fiery flight, In what cavern of the night Will thy pinions close now? II.
What was the shriek that struck F… As it sate on the ruins of time th… Hark! it floats on the fitful blas… And breathes to the pale moon a fu… It is the Benshie’s moan on the s…
For me, my friend, if not that tea… In my faint eyes, and that my hear… With feelings which make rapture p… Yet, from thy voice that falsehood… I thank thee—let the tyrant keep
The flower that smiles to—day To—morrow dies; All that we wish to stay Tempts and then flies. What is this world’s delight?
I rode one evening with Count Mad… Upon the bank of land which breaks… Of Adria towards Venice: a bare s… Of hillocks, heap’d from ever—shif… Matted with thistles and amphibiou…
One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair
Rarely, rarely comest thou, Spirit of Delight! Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day
Swifter far than summer’s flight— Swifter far than youth’s delight— Swifter far than happy night, Art thou come and gone— As the earth when leaves are dead,
