#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
‘Sulpicia ad Cerinthum.’—Lib. iv. Cruel Cerinthus! does the fell di… Which racks my breast your fickle… Alas! I wish’d but to o’ercome th… That I might live for love and yo…
When the last sunshine of expiring… In summer’s twilight weeps itself… Who hath not felt the softness of… Sink on the heart, as dew along th… With a pure feeling which absorbs…
The Serfs are glad through Lara’s wide domain, [2] With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth. And whence they know not, why they need not guess; Though sear’d by toil, and some...
There be none of Beauty’s daughte… With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing
’TIS time this heart should be un… Since others it hath ceased to mov… Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love! My days are in the yellow leaf;
The Moorish King rides up and dow… Through Granada’s royal town; From Elvira’s gate to those Of Bivarambla on he goes. Woe is me, Alhama!
Written Under The Impression Tha… Adieu, thou Hill! where early joy Spread roses o’er my brow; Where Science seeks each loiterin… With knowledge to endow.
‘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 some proud son of man returns… Unknown to glory, but upheld by bi… The sculptor’s art exhausts the po… And storied urns record who rest b… When all is done, upon the tomb is…
'I lay my branch of laurel down. Then thus to form Apollo’s crown. Let every other bring his own.'~L… ‘I lay my branch of laurel down.’ Thou ‘lay thy branch of laurel dow…
The braziers, it seems, are prepar… An address, and present it themsel… A superfluous pageant-for, by the… They’ll find where they’re going m…
Stranger! behold, interr’d togethe… The souls of learning and of leath… Poor Joe is gone, but left his al… You’ll find his relics in a stall. His works were neat, and often fou…
Oh, talk not to me of a name great… The days of our youth are the days… And the myrtle and ivy of sweet tw… Are worth all your laurels, though… What are garlands and crowns to th…
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…
Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing… Wafting destruction o’er thy charm… And hurtling o’er thy lovely head, Has fill’d that breast with fond a… Surely some envious demon’s force,
