#Romantic #Allusion #Epigram
Child of a day, thou knowest not The tears that overflow thy urn, The gushing eyes that read thy lot… Nor, if thou knewest, couldst retu… And why the wish! the pure and ble…
I loved him not; and yet, now he i… I feel I am alone. I check’d him while he spoke; yet,… Alas! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once…
FRIENDS, whom she look’d at bla… And her white wrist above it, gem—… Were arguing with Pentheusa: she… Report of Creon’s death, whom yea… She listen’d to, well—pleas’d; and…
TO write as your sweet mother doe… Is all you wish to do. Play, sing, and smile for others,… Let others write for you. Or mount again your Dartmoor grey…
IS it not better at an early hour In its calm cell to rest the weary… While birds are singing and while… Than sit the fire out and go starv…
‘Do you remember me? or are you pr… Lightly advancing thro’ her star—t… Ianthe said, and look’d into my ey… ‘A yes, a yes to both: for Memory Where you but once have been must…
MANY love music but for music’s… Many because her touches can awake Thoughts that repose within the br… And rise to follow where she loves… What various feelings come from da…
YOUR pleasures spring like daisi… Cut down and up again as blithe as… From you, Ianthe, little troubles… Like little ripples in a sunny riv…
Ah what avails the sceptred race, Ah what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful e…
The chrysolites and rubies Bacchu… To crown the feast where swells th… Where maidens blush at what the mi… They who have coveted may covet no… Bring me, in cool alcove, the grap…
WHO will away to Athens with me?… Loves choral songs and maidens cro… Unenvious? mount the pinnace; hois… I promise ye, as many as are here, Ye shall not, while ye tarry with…
I LEAVE thee, beauteous Italy!… From the high terraces, at even—ti… To look supine into thy depths of… Thy golden moon between the cliff… Or thy dark spires of fretted cypr…
Well I remember how you smiled To see me write your name upon The soft sea—sand . . . “O! what… You think you’re writing upon ston… I have since written what no tide
Ianthe! you are call’d to cross th… A path forbidden me! Remember, while the Sun his bless… Upon the mountain—heads, How often we have watcht him layin…
To my ninth decade I have tottere… And no soft arm bends now my steps… She, who once led me where she wou… So when he calls me, Death shall…
