#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
And heard the autumnal leaves like light footfalls I felt, but heard not:—through white columns glowed There streamed a sunbright vapour, like the standard Louder and louder, gathering ...
How sweet it is to sit and read th… Of mighty poets and to hear the wh… Sweet music, which when the attent… Fills the dim pause—
They die—the dead return not—Mise… Sits near an open grave and calls… A Youth with hoary hair and hagga… They are the names of kindred, fri… Which he so feebly calls—they all…
Yes! all is past—swift time has fl… Yet its swell pauses on my sickeni… How long will horror nerve this fr… I’m dead, and lingers yet my soul… Oh! powerful Fate, revoke thy dea…
Alas! this is not what I thought… I knew that there were crimes and… Misery and hate; nor did I hope t… Untouched by suffering, through th… In mine own heart I saw as in a g…
I bring fresh showers for the thir… From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves… In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews…
And said I that all hope was fled… That sorrow and despair were mine, That each enthusiast wish was dead… Had sank beneath pale Misery’s sh… Seest thou the sunbeam’s yellow gl…
“Throughout these infinite orbs of… Of which yon earth is one, is wide… A Spirit of activity and life, That knows no term, cessation, or… That fades not when the lamp of ea…
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.
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…
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…
BY MICHING MALLECHO, Esq. Is it a party in a parlour, Crammed just as they on earth were… Some sipping punch-some sipping te… But, as you by their faces see,
Is it that in some brighter sphere We part from friends we meet with… Or do we see the Future pass Over the Present’s dusky glass? Or what is that that makes us seem
When a lover clasps his fairest, Then be our dread sport the rarest… Their caresses were like the chaff In the tempest, and be our laugh His despair—her epitaph!
ONE word is too often profaned For me to profane it; One feeling too falsely disdain’d For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair
