#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
A golden-winged Angel stood Before the Eternal Judgement-seat… His looks were wild, and Devils’… Stained his dainty hands and feet. The Father and the Son
Orphan Hours, the Year is dead, Come and sigh, come and weep! Merry Hours, smile instead, For the Year is but asleep. See, it smiles as it is sleeping,
Is it the Eternal Triune, is it… Who dares arrest the wheels of des… And plunge me in the lowest Hell… Will not the lightning’s blast des… Will not steel drink the blood-lif…
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
[I am afraid these verses will not… If I esteemed you less, Envy woul… Pleasure, and leave to Wonder and… The ministration of the thoughts t… The mind which, like a worm whose…
AWAY! the moor is dark beneath t… Rapid clouds have drunk the las… Away! the gathering winds will cal… And profoundest midnight shroud… Pause not! the time is past! Ever…
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…
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…
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,
Alas, good friend, what profit can… In hating such a hateless thing as… There is no sport in hate where al… Is on one side: in vain would you… Your frowns upon an unresisting sm…
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…
The odour from the flower is gone Which like thy kisses breathed on… The colour from the flower is flow… Which glowed of thee and only thee… II.
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.
Good-night? ah! no; the hour is il… Which severs those it should unite… Let us remain together still, Then it will be good night. How can I call the lone night goo…
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…
