#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Let those who pine in pride or in… Or think that ill for ill should b… Who barter wrong for wrong, until… Ruins the merchants of such thrift… Visit the tower of Vado, and unle…
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…
These are two friends whose lives… So let their memory be, now they h… Under the grave; let not their bon… For their two hearts in life were…
Honey from silkworms who can gathe… Or silk from the yellow bee? The grass may grow in winter weath… As soon as hate in me. II.
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…
Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear? Wherefore feed and clothe and save
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!
[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…
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…
It was a bright and cheerful after… Towards the end of the sunny month… When the north wind congregates in… The floating mountains of the silv… From the horizon—and the stainless…
And canst thou mock mine agony, th… In cloudless radiance, Queen of s… Can you, ye flow’rets, spread your… Mid pearly gems of dew that shine… And you wild winds, thus can you s…
There late was One within whose s… As light and wind within some deli… That fades amid the blue noon’s bu… Genius and death contended. None… The sweetness of the joy which mad…
Follow to the deep wood’s weeds, Follow to the wild-briar dingle, Where we seek to intermingle, And the violet tells her tale To the odour-scented gale,
A shovel of his ashes took From the hearth’s obscurest nook, Muttering mysteries as she went. Helen and Henry knew that Granny Was as much afraid of Ghosts as a…
Dar’st thou amid the varied multit… To live alone, an isolated thing? To see the busy beings round thee… And care for none; in thy calm sol… A flower that scarce breathes in t…
