#EnglishWriters #Romantic
Were my bosom as false as thou dee… I need not have wander’d from far… It was but abjuring my creed to ef… The curse which, thou say’st, is t… If the bad never triumph, then Go…
I had a dream, which was not all a… The bright sun was extinguish’d, a… Did wander darkling in the eternal… Rayless, and pathless, and the icy… Swung blind and blackening in the…
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo’s off at last; Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canvass o’er the mast. From aloft the signal’s streaming,
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…
Chill and mirk is the nightly blas… Where Pindus’ mountains rise, And angry clouds are pouring fast The vengeance of the skies. Our guides are gone, our hope is l…
Bright be the place of thy soul! No lovelier spirit than thine E’er burst from its mortal control In the orbs of the blessed to shin… On earth thou wert all but divine,
Rousseau—Voltaire—our Gibbon—De… Leman! these names are worthy of t… Thy shore of names like these! wer… Their memory thy remembrance would… To them thy banks were lovely as t…
In law an infant, and in years a b… In mind a slave to every vicious j… From every sense of shame and virt… In lies an adept, in deceit a fien… Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a c…
Here once engaged the stranger’s v… Young Friendship’s record simply… Few were her words; but yet, thoug… Resentment’s hand the line defaced… Deeply she cut—but not erased,
No breath of air to break the wave That rolls below the Athenian’s g… That tomb which, gleaming o’er the… First greets the homeward-veering… High o’er the land he saved in vai…
Dear Doctor, I have read your pla… Which is a good one in its way, Purges the eyes, and moves the bow… And drenches handkerchiefs like to… With tears that, in a flux of grie…
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…
I enter thy garden of roses, Beloved and fair Haidée, Each morning where Flora reposes, For surely I see her in thee. Oh, Lovely! thus low I implore th…
AD LESBIAM Equal to Jove that youth must be— Greater than Jove he seems to me— Who, free from Jealousy’s alarms, Securely views thy matchless charm…