#EnglishWriters
How, my dear Mary,—are you critic… (For vipers kill, though dead) by… That you condemn these verses I h… Because they tell no story, false… What, though no mice are caught by…
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
Ghosts of the dead! have I not he… Rise on the night-rolling breath o… When o’er the dark aether the temp… And on eddying whirlwind the thund… II.
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…
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…
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!
The fitful alternations of the rai… When the chill wind, languid as wi… Of its own heavy moisture, here an… Drives through the gray and beamle…
The fiery mountains answer each ot… Their thunderings are echoed from… The tempestuous oceans awake one a… And the ice-rocks are shaken round… When the clarion of the Typhoon i…
Fairest of the Destinies, Disarray thy dazzling eyes: Keener far thy lightnings are Than the winged [bolts] thou beare… And the smile thou wearest
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
Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fa… Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill… Shepherd those herds whom tyranny… Verse echoes not one beating of th… History is but the shadow of their…
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…
Shall we roam, my love, To the twilight grove, When the moon is rising bright; Oh, I’ll whisper there, In the cool night-air,
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken… Rose leaves, when the rose is dead…
I loved’alas! our life is love; But when we cease to breathe and m… I do suppose love ceases too. I thought, but not as now I do, Keen thoughts and bright of linked…