#EnglishWriters #Romantic
I speak not, I trace not, I breat… There is grief in the sound, there… But the tear that now burns on my… The deep thoughts that dwell in th… Too brief for our passion, too lon…
To Ianthe: Not in those climes where I have… Though Beauty long hath there bee… Not in those visions to the heart… Forms which it sighs but to have o…
‘Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus… Dear Long, in this sequester’d sc… While all around in slumber lie, The joyous days, which ours have b… Come rolling fresh on Fancy’s eye…
When Friendship or Love Our sympathies move; When Truth, in a glance, should a… The lips may beguile, With a dimple or smile,
Thou Power! who hast ruled me thr… Young offspring of Fancy, 'tis ti… Then rise on the gale this the las… The coldest effusion which springs… This bosom, responsive to rapture…
When amatory poets sing their love… In liquid lines mellifluously blan… And pair their rhymes as Venus yo… They little think what mischief is… The greater their success the wors…
Whene’er I view those lips of thi… Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were——unhallow’d bliss. Whene’er I dream of that pure bre…
In this book a traveller had writt… ‘Fair Albion, smiling, sees her s… To trace the birth and nursery of… Noble his object, glorious is his… He comes to Athens, and he writes…
How pleasant were the songs of To… When Summer’s Sun went down the c… Come, let us to the islet’s softes… And hear the warbling birds I the… The wood-dove from the forest dept…
When Bishop Berkeley said “there… And proved it—'twas no matter what… They say his system ‘tis in vain t… Too subtle for the airiest human h… And yet who can believe it! I wou…
When, to their airy hall, my fathe… Shall call my spirit, joyful in th… When, poised upon the gale, my for… Or, dark in mist, descend the moun… Oh! may my shade behold no sculptu…
Away, away, ye notes of woe! Be silent, thou once soothing stra… Or I must flee from hence—for, oh… I dare not trust those sounds agai… To me they speak of brighter days
One struggle more, and I am free From pangs that rend my heart in t… One last long sigh to love and the… Then back to busy life again. It suits me well to mingle now
Oh, Wellington! (or 'Villainton’—… Sounds the heroic syllables both w… France could not even conquer your… But punn’d it down to this facetio… Beating or beaten she will laugh t…
If sometimes in the haunts of men Thine image from my breast may fad… The lonely hour presents again The semblance of thy gentle shade: And now that sad and silent hour