Well, they are gone, and here must… This lime-tree bower my prison! I… Beauties and feelings, such as wou… Most sweet to my remembrance even… Had dimm’d mine eyes to blindness!…

Trochee trips from long to short; From long to long in solemn sort Slow Spondee stalks, strong foot!… Ever to come up with Dactyl’s tri… Iambics march from short to long.

O thou wild fancy, check thy wing!… Those thin white flakes, those pur… Nor there with happy spirits speed… Bathed in rich amber-glowing flood… Nor in yon gleam, where slow desce…

Sweet flower! that peeping from th… Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange… This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse,… Hath borrowed Zephyr’s voice, and… With blue voluptuous eye) alas poo…

Much on my early youth I love to… Ere yet I bade that friendly dome… Where first, beneath the echoing c… I heard of guilt and wondered at t… Yet tho’ the hours flew by on care…

Poor little Foal of an oppressed… I love the languid patience of thy… And oft with gentle hand I give t… And clap thy ragged coat, and pat… But what thy dulled spirits hath d…

As some vast Tropic tree, itself… That crests its Head with clouds,… Feeds its deep roots, and with the… Of its wide base controls the fron… (By the slant current’s pressure s…

Where is the grave of Sir Arthur… Where may the grave of that good m… By the side of a spring, on the br… Under the twigs of a young birch t… The oak that in summer was sweet t…

To meet, to know, to love—and then… Is the sad tale of many a human he…

Lady. If Love be dead (and you aver it!… Tell me, Bard! where Love lies bu… Poet. Love lies buried where 'twas born,

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…

Sister of love-lorn Poets, Philom… How many Bards in city garret pen… While at their window they with do… Mark the faint lamp-beam on the ke… And listen to the drowsy cry of W…

Hast thou a charm to stay the morn… In his steep course? So long he s… On thy bald awful head, O sovran… The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most a…

A Conversation Poem, April, 1798 No cloud, no relique of the sunken… Distinguishes the West, no long t… Of sullen light, no obscure trembl… Come, we will rest on this old mos…

The stream with languid murmur cre… In Lumin’s flowery vale: Beneath the dew the Lily weeps Slow-waving to the gale. ‘Cease, restless gale! ’it seems t…