#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
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!
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…
I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I di… To think that a most unambitious s… Like thou, shouldst dance and reve… Of Liberty. Thou mightst have bui… Where it had stood even now: thou…
Alas, good friend, what profit can… In hating such a hateless thing as… There is no sport in hate where al… Is on one side: in vain would you… Your frowns upon an unresisting sm…
From the forests and highlands We come, we come; From the river—girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb Listening my sweet pipings.
Unrisen splendour of the brightest… To rise upon our darkness, if the… Now beckoning thee out of thy mist… Could thaw the clouds which wage a… With thy young brightness!
Hark! the owlet flaps her wing, In the pathless dell beneath, Hark! night ravens loudly sing, Tidings of despair and death.— Horror covers all the sky,
Spirit ‘I was an infant when my mother we… To see an atheist burned. She too… The dark-robed priests were met ar… The multitude was gazing silently;
Art thou indeed forever gone, Forever, ever, lost to me? Must this poor bosom beat alone, Or beat at all, if not for thee? Ah! why was love to mortals given,
Night, with all thine eyes look do… Darkness shed its holiest dew! When ever smiled the inconstant mo… On a pair so true? Hence, coy hour! and quench thy li…
O World! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had sto… When will return the glory of your… No more—oh, never more!
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… Nor thou disdain, that ere my fame…
‘Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain; My hand is on thy brow, My spirit on thy brain; My pity on thy heart, poor friend; And from my fingers flow
Heigho! the lark and the owl! One flies the morning, and one lul… Only the nightingale, poor fond so… Sings like the fool through darkne… “A widow bird sate mourning for he…
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…
