#EnglishWriters
There is a fountain filled with bl… And sinners plunged beneath that f… Lose all their guilty stains, lose… And sinners plunged beneath that f… The dying thief rejoiced to see th…
My Spouse! in whose presence I li… Sole object of all my desires, Who know’st what a flame I concei… And canst easily double its fires! How pleasant is all that I meet!
On the Burning of Lord Mansfield… So then - the Vandals of our isle… Sworn foes to sense and law, Have burnt to dust a nobler pile Than ever Roman saw!
I will praise Thee every day Now Thine anger’s turn’d away; Comfortable thoughts arise From the bleeding sacrifice. Here, in the fair gospel-field,
Perfida, crudelis, victa et lympha… Non armis, laurum Gallia fraude p… Venalem pretio plebem conducit, et… Undique privatas patriciasque domo… Nequicquam conata su’, fœdissima s…
No more shall hapless Celia’s ear… Be flattered with the cries Of lovers drowned in floods of tea… Or murdered by her eyes; No serenades to break her rest,
What portents, from what distant r… Unseen till now in ours, the aston… In ages past, old Proteus, with h… Of sea-calves, sought the mountain… But now, descending whence of late…
Time, never wand’ring from his ann… Bids Zephyr breathe the Spring, a… Bleak Winter flies, new verdure c… And earth assumes her transient yo… Dream I, or also to the Spring be…
Hear what God the Lord hath spoke… ‘O my people, faint and few, Comfortless, afflicted, broken, Fair abodes I build for you. Thorns of heartfelt tribulation
Sin enslaved me many years, And led me bound and blind; Till at length a thousand fears Came swarming o’er my mind. “Where,” said I, in deep distress…
It flatters and deceives thy view, This mirror of ill-polish’d ore; For, were it just, and told thee t… Thou wouldst consult it never more…
A needle, small as small can be, In bulk and use surpasses me, Nor is my purchase dear; For little, and almost for nought As many of my kind are bought
I am just two and two, I am warm,… And the parent of numbers that can… I am lawful, unlawful—a duty, a fa… I am often sold dear, good for not… An extraordinary boon, and a matte…
The works of ancient bards divine, Aulus, thou scorn’st to read; And should posterity read thine, It would be strange indeed! When little more than boy in age,
‘Me too, perchance, in future days… The sculptured stone shall show, With Paphian myrtle or with bays Parnassian on my brow. ’But I, or e’er that season come,