#English #Romanticism
And this reft house is that the wh… Lamented Jack! And here his malt… Cautious in vain! These rats that… Squeak, not unconscious of their f… Did ye not see her gleaming thro’…
O peace, that on a lilied bank dos… To rest thine head beneath an oliv… I would that from the pinions of t… One quill withouten pain yplucked… For oh! I wish my Sara’s frowns t…
Nay, dearest Anna! why so grave? I said, you had no soul, ‘tis true… For what you are, you cannot have: ’Tis I, that have one since I fir… I have heard of reasons manifold
Come, come thou bleak December wi… And blow the dry leaves from the t… Flash, like a Love—thought, thro’… And take a Life that wearies me.
Near the lone pile with ivy oversp… Fast by the rivulet’s sleep-persua… Where 'sleeps the moonlight’ on yo… O humbly press that consecrated gr… For there does Edmund rest, the l…
O! I do love thee, meek Simplicit… For of thy lays the lulling simple… Goes to my heart, and soothes each… Distress tho’ small, yet haply gre… 'Tis true, on Lady Fortune’s gent…
Like a lone Arab, old and blind, Some caravan had left behind, Who sits beside a ruin’d well, Where the shy sand—asps bask and s… And now he hangs his ag{'e}d head…
From a letter from STC to Wordsw… In stale blank verse a subject sta… I send per post my Nightingale; And like an honest bard, dear Wor… You’ll tell me what you think, my…
The grapes upon the Vicar’s wall Were ripe as ripe could be; And yellow leaves in sun and wind Were falling from the tree. On the hedge-elms in the narrow la…
Hence that fantastic wantonness of… O Youth to partial Fortune vainly… To plunder’d Want’s half-shelter’… Go, and some hunger-bitten infant… Moan haply in a dying mother’s ear…
Though friendships differ endless… The sorts, methinks, may be reduc… Ac quaintance many, and Con quai… But for In quaintance I know onl… The friend I’ve mourned with, and…
From his brimstone bed at break of… A walking the DEVIL is gone, To visit his little snug farm of t… And see how his stock went on. Over the hill and over the dale,
Lines composed while climbing the… With many a pause and oft reverted… I climb the Coomb’s ascent: sweet… Warble in shade their wild-wood me… Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soot…
Verse, a breeze mid blossoms stray… Where Hope clung feeding, like a… Both were mine! Life went a—mayin… With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young!
Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given… She sent the gentle sleep from He… That slid into my soul.