#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Wealth and dominion fade into the… Of the great sea of human right an… When once from our possession they… But love, though misdirected, is a… The things which are immortal, and…
DRAMATIS PERSONÃ Count Francesco Cenci. Giacomo, his Son. Bernardo, his Son. Cardinal Camillo.
No trump tells thy virtues’the g… With thy dust shall remain unpollu… Till thy foes, by the world and by… Shall pass like a mist from the li… VII.
Where man’s profane and tainting h… Nature’s primaeval loveliness ha… And some few souls of the high bli… Which else obey her powerful comma… ...mountain piles
Arethusa arose From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains,— From cloud and from crag, With many a jag,
And earnest to explore within—arou… The divine wood, whose thick green… Tempered the young day to the sigh… Up the green slope, beneath the fo… With slow, soft steps leaving the…
The warm sun is falling, the bleak… The bare boughs are sighing, the p… And the Year On the earth is her death-bed, in… Is lying.
PEOPLE of England, ye who toil… Who reap the harvests which are no… Who weave the clothes which your o… And for your own take the inclemen… Who build warm houses . . .
From the Greek. Eagle! why soarest thou above that… To what sublime and star-ypaven ho… Floatest thou?— I am the image of swift Plato’s s…
Ye hasten to the grave! What seek… Ye restless thoughts and busy purp… Of the idle brain, which the world… O thou quick heart, which pantest… All that pale Expectation feignet…
Returning from its daily quest, my… Changed thoughts and vile in thee… It grieves me that thy mild and ge… Those ample virtues which it did i… Has lost. Once thou didst loathe…
We are as clouds that veil the mid… How restlessly they speed and glea… Streaking the darkness radiantly!… Night closes round, and they are l… Or like forgotten lyres whose diss…
Alas, good friend, what profit can… In hating such a hateless thing as… There is no sport in hate where al… Is on one side: in vain would you… Your frowns upon an unresisting sm…
‘Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain; My hand is on thy brow, My spirit on thy brain; My pity on thy heart, poor friend; And from my fingers flow
When soft winds and sunny skies With the green earth harmonize, And the young and dewy dawn, Bold as an unhunted fawn, Up the windless heaven is gone,—
