#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Her voice did quiver as we parted, Yet knew I not that heart was bro… From which it came, and I departe… Heeding not the words then spoken. Misery—O Misery,
Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on t… Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a differ… And ever changing, like a joyless…
Amid the desolation of a city, Which was the cradle, and is now t… Of an extinguished people,'so th… Weeps o’er the shipwrecks of Ob… There stands the Tower of Famine.…
Here, my dear friend, is a new boo… I have already dedicated two To other friends, one female and o… What you are, is a thing that I m… What can this be to those who prai…
Hopes, that swell in youthful brea… Live not through the waste of time… Love’s rose a host of thorns inves… Cold, ungenial is the clime, Where its honours blow.
I am as a spirit who has dwelt Within his heart of hearts, and I… His feelings, and have thought his… The inmost converse of his soul, t… Unheard but in the silence of his…
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…
Scene.—Before the Cavern of the… The Enchantress comes forth. Enchantress. He came like a dream in the dawn o… He fled like a shadow before its n…
Death is here and death is there, Death is busy everywhere, All around, within, beneath, Above is death—and we are death. II.
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
My head is heavy, my limbs are wea… And it is not life that makes me m…
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
Ah! grasp the dire dagger and couc… If vengeance and death to thy boso… The dastard shall perish, death’s… For fate and revenge are decreed f… Ah! where is the hero, whose nerve…
Yet look on me—take not thine eyes… Which feed upon the love within mi… Which is indeed but the reflected… Of thine own beauty from my spirit… Yet speak to me—thy voice is as th…
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…
