#EnglishWriters
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…
Swifter far than summer’s flight— Swifter far than youth’s delight… Swifter far than happy night, Art thou come and gone— As the earth when leaves are dead,
Fierce roars the midnight storm O’er the wild mountain, Dark clouds the night deform, Swift rolls the fountain— See! o’er yon rocky height,
Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Spirit of Delight! Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day
The sun is set; the swallows are a… The bats are flitting fast in the… The slow soft toads out of damp co… And evening’s breath, wandering he… Over the quivering surface of the…
Heigho! the lark and the owl! One flies the morning, and one lul… Only the nightingale, poor fond so… Sings like the fool through darkne… “A widow bird sate mourning for he…
Thy beauty hangs around thee like Splendour around the moon— Thy voice, as silver bells that st… Upon...
Listen, listen, Mary mine, To the whisper of the Apennine, It bursts on the roof like the thu… Or like the sea on a northern shor… Heard in its raging ebb and flow
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…
I stood upon a heaven-cleaving tur… Which overlooked a wide Metropoli… And in the temple of my heart my… Lay prostrate, and with parted lip… The dust of Desolations [altar] h…
Arethusa arose From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains,— From cloud and from crag, With many a jag,
A cat in distress, Nothing more, nor less; Good folks, I must faithfully tel… As I am a sinner, It waits for some dinner
THE world’s great age begins anew… The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn; Heaven smiles, and faiths and empi…
PEOPLE of England, ye who toil… Who reap the harvests which are no… Who weave the clothes which your o… And for your own take the inclemen… Who build warm houses . . .
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…