#EnglishWriters
Dear Joseph,—five and twenty year… Alas! how time escapes—’tis even s… With frequent intercourse and alwa… And always friendly we were wont t… A tedious hour,—and now we never m…
Eldest born of powers divine! Bless’d Hygeia! be it mine To enjoy what thou canst give, And henceforth with thee to live: For in power if pleasure be
Season of my purest pleasure, Sealer of observing eyes! When, in larger, freer measure, I can commune with the skies; While, beneath thy shade extended,
Here, free from riot’s hated noise… Be mine, ye calmer, purer joys, A book or friend bestows; Far from the storms that shake the… Contentment’s gale shall fan my se…
Hayley, thy tenderness fraternal s… In our first interview, delightful… To Mary and me for her dear sake… Such as it is has made my heart th… Though heedless now of new engagem…
All are indebted much to thee, But I far more than all, From many a deadly snare set free, And raised from many a fall. Overwhelm me, from above,
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…
Why weeps the muse for England? W… In England’s case to move the mus… From side to side of her delightfu… Is she not clothed with a perpetua… Can Nature add a charm, or Art co…
Hence, my epistle—skim the Deep—f… Yon smooth expanse to the Teutoni… Haste—lest a friend should grieve… And the Gods grant that nothing t… I will myself invoke the King who…
‘Ere God had built the mountains, Or raised the fruitful hills; Before he fill’d the fountains That feed the running rills; In me from everlasting,
That ocean you have late surveyed, Those rocks I too have seen; But I, afflicted and dismayed, You tranquil and serene. You from the flood-controlling ste…
CHORUS OF ANGELS, Singing… To Heaven’s bright lyre let Iris… Adapt the spheres for chords, for… Let new-born gales discriminate th… Nor let old Time to measure times…
The twentieth year is well nigh pa… Since first our sky was overcast;— Ah would that this might be the la… My Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
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,
Dear President, whose art sublime Gives perpetuity to time, And bids transactions of a day, That fleeting hours would waft awa… To dark futurity, survive,