#EnglishWriters
Beyond the sea, beyond the sea, My heart is gone, far, far from me… And ever on its track will flee My thoughts, my dreams, beyond the… Beyond the sea, beyond the sea,
Saint Laura, in her sleep of deat… Preserves beneath the tomb —'Tis willed where what is willed… In incorruptibility Her beauty and her bloom.
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…
O freedom! power of life and light… Sole nurse of truth and glory! Bright dweller on the rocky cliff! Lone wanderer on the sea! Where’er the sunbeam slumbers brig…
The mountain sheep are sweeter, But the valley sheep are fatter; We therefore deemed it meeter To carry off the latter. We made an expedition;
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…
I DUG, beneath the cypress shade… What well might seem an elfin’s… And every pledge in earth I laid, That erst thy false affection g… I press’d them down the sod beneat…
—anankta ton pantôn huperbal– lonta chronon makarôn. Pindar. Hymn. frag. 33 As the mountain-torrent rages, Loud, impetuous, swift, and strong…
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…
Milestone: All my troubles disappear, When the dinner-bell I hear, Over woodland, dale, and fell, Swinging slow with solemn swell,—
O! The spring-time of life is the… And the morning of love is the sea… Ere noontide and summer, with radi… Look down on their beauty, to parc… 0! faint are the blossoms life’s p…
’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…
THE LADY. O cavalier! what dost thou here, Thy tuneful vigils keeping; While the northern star looks cold… And half the world is sleeping?
’Tis said the rose is Love’s own… Its blush so bright, its thorns so… And winter on its bloom has power, But has not on its sweetness any. For though young Love’s ethereal…