#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
There late was One within whose s… As light and wind within some deli… That fades amid the blue noon’s bu… Genius and death contended. None… The sweetness of the joy which mad…
A golden-winged Angel stood Before the Eternal Judgement-seat… His looks were wild, and Devils’… Stained his dainty hands and feet. The Father and the Son
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…
Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on t… Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a differ… And ever changing, like a joyless…
The cold earth slept below; Above the cold sky shone; And all around, With a chilling sound, From caves of ice and fields of sn…
Lift not the painted veil which th… Call Life: though unreal shapes b… And it but mimic all we would beli… With colours idly spread,-behind,… And Hope, twin Destinies; who eve…
How eloquent are eyes! Not the rapt poet’s frenzied lay When the soul’s wildest feelings s… Can speak so well as they. How eloquent are eyes!
A pale Dream came to a Lady fair, And said, A boon, a boon, I pray! I know the secrets of the air, And things are lost in the glare o… Which I can make the sleeping see…
Rome has fallen, ye see it lying Heaped in undistinguished ruin: Nature is alone undying.
Like the ghost of a dear friend de… Is Time long past. A tone which is now forever fled, A hope which is now forever past, A love so sweet it could not last,
And where is truth? On tombs? for… Has been my heart—and thy dead mem… Has lain from childhood, many a ch… Unchangingly preserved and buried…
Thy dewy looks sink in my breast; Thy gentle words stir poison there… Thou hast disturbed the only rest That was the portion of despair! Subdued to Duty’s hard control,
Summer was dead and Autumn was ex… And infant Winter laughed upon th… All cloudlessly and cold;—when I,… More in this world than any unders… Wept o’er the beauty, which, like…
Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets’ food is love and fame: If in this wide world of care Poets could but find the same With as little toil as they,
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.
