#EnglishWriters
Rarely, rarely comest thou, Spirit of Delight! Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day
I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright I arise from dreams of thee,
’Twas dead of the night when I sa… One glimmering lamp was expiring a… Around the dark tide of the tempes… Along the wild mountains night-rav… They bodingly presaged destruction…
Earth, Ocean, Air, belovèd broth… If our great Mother has imbued my… With aught of natural piety to fee… Your love, and recompense the boon… If dewy morn, and odorous noon, an…
Death! where is thy victory? To triumph whilst I die, To triumph whilst thine ebon wing Enfolds my shuddering soul? O Death! where is thy sting?
One sung of thee who left the tale… Like the false dawns which perish… Like empty cups of wrought and dae… Which mock the lips with air, when…
Lift not the painted veil which th… Call Life: though unreal shapes b… And it but mimic all we would beli… With colours idly spread,—behind,… And Hope, twin Destinies; who eve…
At the creation of the Earth Pleasure, that divinest birth, From the soil of Heaven did rise, Wrapped in sweet wild melodies— Like an exhalation wreathing
Flourishing vine, whose kindling c… Beneath the autumnal sun, none tas… For thou dost shroud a ruin, and b… The rotting bones of dead antiquit…
Tan ala tan glaukan otan onemos at… When winds that move not its calm… The azure sea, I love the land no… The smiles of the serene and tranq… Tempt my unquiet mind.—But when t…
The golden gates of Sleep unbar Where Strength and Beauty, met to… Kindle their image like a star In a sea of glassy weather! Night, with all thy stars look dow…
From the forests and highlands We come, we come; From the river—girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb Listening my sweet pipings.
Where man’s profane and tainting h… Nature’s primaeval loveliness ha… And some few souls of the high bli… Which else obey her powerful comma… ...mountain piles
A scene, which 'wildered fancy vie… In the soul’s coldest solitude, With that same scene when peaceful… Flings rapture’s colour o’er the g… When mountain, meadow, wood and st…
Stern, stern is the voice of fate’… When accents of horror it breathes… Or compels us for aye bid adieu to… Where exists that loved friend to… 'Tis sterner than death o’er the s…
