#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
O mighty mind, in whose deep strea… Shakes like a reed in the unheedin… Why dost thou curb not thine own s…
Dar’st thou amid the varied multit… To live alone, an isolated thing? To see the busy beings round thee… And care for none; in thy calm sol… A flower that scarce breathes in t…
In the cave which wild weeds cover Wait for thine aethereal lover; For the pallid moon is waning, O’er the spiral cypress hanging And the moon no cloud is staining.
‘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
I weep for Adonais—he is dead! Oh, weep for Adonais! though our… Thaw not the frost which binds so… And thou, sad Hour, selected from… To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscu…
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditat…
I dreamed that, as I wandered by… Bare Winter suddenly was changed… And gentle odours led my steps ast… Mixed with a sound of waters murmu… Along a shelving bank of turf, whi…
Thou art fair, and few are fairer Of the Nymphs of earth or ocean; They are robes that fit the wearer… Those soft limbs of thine, whose m… Ever falls and shifts and glances
[I am afraid these verses will not… If I esteemed you less, Envy woul… Pleasure, and leave to Wonder and… The ministration of the thoughts t… The mind which, like a worm whose…
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.
The babe is at peace within the wo… The corpse is at rest within the t… We begin in what we end.
How stern are the woes of the deso… As he bends in still grief o’er th… As enanguished he turns from the l… And drops to perfection’s remembra… When floods of despair down his pa…
Good-night? ah! no; the hour is il… Which severs those it should unite… Let us remain together still, Then it will be good night. How can I call the lone night goo…
I would not be a king—enough Of woe it is to love; The path to power is steep and rou… And tempests reign above. I would not climb the imperial thr…
The flower that smiles to—day To—morrow dies; All that we wish to stay Tempts and then flies. What is this world’s delight?
