#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on t… Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a differ… And ever changing, like a joyless…
Come Harriet! sweet is the hour, Soft Zephyrs breathe gently aroun… The anemone’s night-boding flower, Has sunk its pale head on the grou… 'Tis thus the world’s keenness hat…
Away! the moor is dark beneath the… Rapid clouds have drank the last p… Away! the gathering winds will cal… And profoundest midnight shroud th… Pause not! The time is past! Ever…
Corpses are cold in the tomb; Stones on the pavement are dumb; Abortions are dead in the womb, And their mothers look pale—like t… Of Albion, free no more.
Here I sit with my paper, my pen… First of this thing, and that thin… Then my thoughts come so pell-mell… That the sense or the subject I n… This word is wrong placed,—no rega…
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
Honey from silkworms who can gathe… Or silk from the yellow bee? The grass may grow in winter weath… As soon as hate in me. II.
AWAY! the moor is dark beneath t… Rapid clouds have drunk the las… Away! the gathering winds will cal… And profoundest midnight shroud… Pause not! the time is past! Ever…
To me this world’s a dreary blank, All hopes in life are gone and fle… My high strung energies are sank, And all my blissful hopes lie dead… The world once smiling to my view,
Come, thou awakener of the spirit’… Zephyr, whom to thy cloud or cave No thought can trace! speed with t…
My soul is an enchanted boat, Which, like a sleeping swan, doth… Upon the silver waves of thy sweet… And thine doth like an angel sit Beside a helm conducting it,
How swiftly through Heaven’s wide… Bright day’s resplendent colours f… How sweetly does the moonbeam’s gl… With silver tint St. Irvyne’s gla… II.
From the Greek of Plato. Thou wert the morning star among t… Ere thy fair light had fled;— Now, having died, thou art as Hes… New splendour to the dead.
INFERNO 33, 22-75. Now had the loophole of that dunge… Which bears the name of Famine’s… And where ’tis fit that many anoth… Be doomed to linger in captivity,
Summer was dead and Autumn was ex… And infant Winter laughed upon th… All cloudlessly and cold;—when I,… More in this world than any unders… Wept o’er the beauty, which, like…
