#EnglishWriters
If solitude hath ever led thy step… To the wild ocean’s echoing shore, And thou hast lingered there, Until the sun’s broad orb Seemed resting on the burnished wa…
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
When soft winds and sunny skies With the green earth harmonize, And the young and dewy dawn, Bold as an unhunted fawn, Up the windless heaven is gone,—
Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Spirit of Delight! Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day
Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are… Ocean of Time, whose waters of de… Are brackish with the salt of huma… Thou shoreless flood, which in thy… Claspest the limits of mortality!
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
In the cave which wild weeds cover Wait for thine aethereal lover; For the pallid moon is waning, O’er the spiral cypress hanging And the moon no cloud is staining.
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, Thou needest not fear mine; My spirit is too deeply laden Ever to burthen thine. II.
Dar’st thou amid the varied mult… To live alone, an isolated thing? To see the busy beings round thee… And care for none; in thy calm sol… A flower that scarce breathes in t…
Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent… Sweet-basil and mignonette? Embleming love and health, which n… In the same wreath might be. Alas, and they are wet!
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…
And who feels discord now or sorro… Love is the universe to-day— These are the slaves of dim to-mor… Darkening Life’s labyrinthine way…
Rome has fallen, ye see it lying Heaped in undistinguished ruin: Nature is alone undying.
THE world’s great age begins anew… The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn; Heaven smiles, and faiths and empi…
The rude wind is singing The dirge of the music dead; The cold worms are clinging Where kisses were lately fed.