#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury #Couplet #Epigram
Yet, Freedom, yet, thy banner, to… Streams like a thunder-storm again… A glorious people vibrated again The lightning of the nations: Lib… From heart to heart, from tower to…
The rose that drinks the fountain… In the pleasant air of noon, Grows pale and blue with altered h… In the gaze of the nightly moon; For the planet of frost, so cold a…
Another Version Of 'A Bridal So… Night, with all thine eyes look do… Darkness shed its holiest dew! When ever smiled the inconstant mo… On a pair so true?
There is a warm and gentle atmosph… About the form of one we love, and… As in a tender mist our spirits ar… Wrapped in the of that which is to… The health of life’s own life—
Ghosts of the dead! have I not he… Rise on the night-rolling breath o… When o’er the dark aether the temp… And on eddying whirlwind the thund… II.
Tell me, thou Star, whose wings o… Speed thee in thy fiery flight, In what cavern of the night Will thy pinions close now? II.
Muse, sing the deeds of golden Ap… Who wakens with her smile the lull… Of sweet desire, taming the eterna… Of Heaven, and men, and all the l… That fleet along the air, or whom…
Heigho! the lark and the owl! One flies the morning, and one lul… Only the nightingale, poor fond so… Sings like the fool through darkne… “A widow bird sate mourning for he…
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
We meet not as we parted, We feel more than all may see; My bosom is heavy-hearted, And thine full of doubt for me:— One moment has bound the free.
Ah! faint are her limbs, and her f… Yet far must the desolate wanderer… Though the tempest is stern, and t… She must quit at deep midnight her… I see her swift foot dash the dew…
How swiftly through Heaven’s wide… Bright day’s resplendent colours f… How sweetly does the moonbeam’s gl… With silver tint St. Irvyne’s gla… II.
Shall we roam, my love, To the twilight grove, When the moon is rising bright; Oh, I’ll whisper there, In the cool night-air,
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…
One sung of thee who left the tale… Like the false dawns which perish… Like empty cups of wrought and dae… Which mock the lips with air, when…
