#EnglishWriters
O Wild West Wind, thou breath of… Thou, from whose unseen presence t… Are driven, like ghosts from an en… Yellow, and black, and pale, and h… Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O…
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,
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…
WHEN the lamp is shatter’d, The light in the dust lies dead; When the cloud is scatter’d, The rainbow’s glory is shed; When the lute is broken,
An old, mad, blind, despised, and… Princes, the dregs of their dull r… Through public scorn,—mud from a m… Rulers who neither see nor feel no… But leechlike to their fainting co…
Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Spirit of Delight! Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day
Bright ball of flame that through… Silently takest thine aethereal wa… And with surpassing glory dimm’st… Twinkling amid the dark blue depth… Unlike the fire thou bearest, soon…
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditat…
Melodious Arethusa, o’er my verse Shed thou once more the spirit of… Who denies verse to Gallus? So, w… Glidest beneath the green and purp… Of Syracusan waters, mayst thou f…
The keen stars were twinkling, And the fair moon was rising among… Dear Jane. The guitar was tinkling, But the notes were not sweet till…
A golden-winged Angel stood Before the Eternal Judgement-seat… His looks were wild, and Devils’… Stained his dainty hands and feet. The Father and the Son
Hail to thee, Cambria! for the un… Which from thy wilds even now meth… Chasing the clouds that roll in wr… And tightening the soul’s laxest n… True mountain Liberty alone may h…
‘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
I would not be a king—enough Of woe it is to love; The path to power is steep and rou… And tempests reign above. I would not climb the imperial thr…
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…