#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
My thoughts arise and fade in soli… The verse that would invest them m… Like moonlight in the heaven of sp… How beautiful they were, how firm… Flecking the starry sky like woven…
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…
O that a chariot of cloud were min… Of cloud which the wild tempest we… When the moon over the ocean’s lin… Is spreading the locks of her brig… O that a chariot of cloud were min…
Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing Heaven, and gazing on… Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a differ… And ever changing, like a joyless…
One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair
Adapted From The Vita Nuova Of… What Mary is when she a little sm… I cannot even tell or call to mind… It is a miracle so new, so rare.
Fierce roars the midnight storm O’er the wild mountain, Dark clouds the night deform, Swift rolls the fountain— See! o’er yon rocky height,
Spirit ‘I was an infant when my mother we… To see an atheist burned. She too… The dark-robed priests were met ar… The multitude was gazing silently;
The death-bell beats!— The mountain repeats The echoing sound of the knell; And the dark Monk now Wraps the cowl round his brow,
The Elements respect their Maker’… Still Like the scathed pine tree’… Braving the tempests of the night Have I 'scaped the flickering fla… Like the scathed pine, which a mon…
O thou bright Sun! beneath the da… Of western distance that sublime d… And, gleaming lovelier as thy beam… Thy million hues to every vapour l… And, over cobweb lawn and grove an…
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…
Night, with all thine eyes look do… Darkness shed its holiest dew! When ever smiled the inconstant mo… On a pair so true? Hence, coy hour! and quench thy li…
Stern, stern is the voice of fate’… When accents of horror it breathes… Or compels us for aye bid adieu to… Where exists that loved friend to… 'Tis sterner than death o’er the s…
There was a little lawny islet By anemone and violet, Like mosaic, paven: And its roof was flowers and leave… Which the summer’s breath enweaves…
