#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Best and brightest, come away! Fairer far than this fair Day, Which, like thee to those in sorro… Comes to bid a sweet good—morrow To the rough Year just awake
THE wind has swept from the wide… Each vapour that obscured the suns… And pallid Evening twines its bea… In duskier braids around the langu… Silence and Twilight, unbeloved o…
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…
Published by Edward Dowden, “Cor… If gibbets, axes, confiscations, c… And racks of subtle torture, if th… Of shame, of fiery Hell’s tempest… Seen through the caverns of the sh…
Oh! what is the gain of restless c… And what is ambitious treasure? And what are the joys that the mod… In their sickly haunts of pleasure… My husband’s repast with delight…
I love thee, Baby! for thine own… Those azure eyes, that faintly dim… Thy tender frame, so eloquently we… Love in the sternest heart of hate… But more when o’er thy fitful slum…
The billows on the beach are leapi… The bark is weak and frail, The sea looks black, and the cloud… Darkly strew the gale. Come with me, thou delightful chil…
Is not to-day enough? Why do I pe… Into the darkness of the day to co… Is not to-morrow even as yesterday… And will the day that follows chan… Few flowers grow upon thy wintry w…
From the Greek of Plato. Kissing Helena, together With my kiss, my soul beside it Came to my lips, and there I kept… For the poor thing had wandered th…
A Fragment PART I There was a youth, who, as with to… Had grown quite weak and gray befo… Nor any could the restless griefs…
Like the ghost of a dear friend de… Is Time long past. A tone which is now forever fled, A hope which is now forever past, A love so sweet it could not last,
HOW wonderful is Death, Death, and his brother Sleep! One, pale as yonder waning moon With lips of lurid blue; The other, rosy as the morn
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…
THE world is dreary, And I’m weary Of wandering on without thee, Mar… A joy was erewhile In thy voice and thy smile,
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,
