#EnglishWriters
I dug, beneath the cypress shade, What well might seem an elfin’s gr… And every pledge in earth I laid, That erst thy false affection gave… I pressed them down the sod beneat…
I play’d with you 'mid cowslips bl… When I was six and you were four; When garlands weaving, flower-ball… Were pleasures soon to please no m… Through groves and meads, o’er gra…
The briefest part of life’s uncert… Youth’s lovely blossom, hastes to… While love, wine, song, enhance ou… Old age creeps on, nor thought, no…
By the mossy weed-flowered column, Where the setting moonbeam’s glanc… Streams a radiance cold and solemn On the haunts of old romance: Know’st thou what those shafts bet…
August, 1842 with a remembrance of August, 1807 I gaze, where August’s sunbeam fa… Along these grey and lonely walls, Till in its light absorbed appears
Saint Laura, in her sleep of deat… Preserves beneath the tomb —'Tis willed where what is willed… In incorruptibility Her beauty and her bloom.
Nay, deem me not insensible, Cesa… To female charms; nor think this h… Is cas’d in adamant; because, fors… I cannot ogle, and hyperbolize, And whisper tender nothings in the…
’Tis midnight: the sky is with clo… The forest-trees bend in the loud-… The rain strongly beats on these t… The lightning pours swiftly its bl… Triumphant the tempest-fiend rides…
Milestone: All my troubles disappear, When the dinner-bell I hear, Over woodland, dale, and fell, Swinging slow with solemn swell,—
—anankta ton pantôn huperbal– lonta chronon makarôn. Pindar. Hymn. frag. 33 Spirit of the days of yore! Thou! who, in thy haunted cave,
[To the tune of “Turning, turning… RECITATIVE. MR. PAPERST… Jack Horner’s CHRISTMAS PIE… Interpreted to mean the public pur… From thence a plum he drew. O hap…
The ivy o’er the mouldering wall Spreads like a tree, the growth of… The wild wind through the doorless… A melancholy music rears, A solitary voice, that sighs
Hark! o’er the silent waters steal… The dash of oars sounds soft and c… Through night’s deep veil, all for… Nearer it comes, and yet more near… See! where the long reflection gli…
Long night succeeds thy little day… Oh blighted blossom! can it be, That this grey stone, and grassy c… Have clos’d our anxious care of th… The half-form’d speech of artless…
Seamen three! What men be ye? Gotham’s three wise men we be. Whither in your bowl so free? To rake the moon from out the sea. The bowl goes trim. The moon doth…