#EnglishWriters #Romantic
My hair is grey, but not with year… Nor grew it white In a single night, As men’s have grown from sudden fe… My limbs are bow’d, though not wit…
WRITTEN IN 'LETTERS O… ‘Away, away, your fleeting arts May now betray some simpler hearts… And you will smile at their believ… And they shall weep at your deceiv…
This votive pledge of fond esteem, Perhaps, dear girl! for me thou’lt… It sings of Love’s enchanting dre… A theme we never can despise. Who blames it but the envious fool…
Oh, Wellington! (or 'Villainton’—… Sounds the heroic syllables both w… France could not even conquer your… But punn’d it down to this facetio… Beating or beaten she will laugh t…
LIV But now I will begin my poem. 'Ti… Perhaps a little strange, if not q… That from the first of Cantos up… I’ve not begun what we have to go…
Oh, Friend! for ever loved, for e… What fruitless tears have bathed t… What sighs re’echo’d to thy partin… Wilst thou wast struggling in the… Could tears retard the tyrant in h…
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge… A palace and a prison on each hand… I saw from out the wave her struct… As from the stroke of the enchante… A thousand years their cloudy wing…
When, to their airy hall, my fathe… Shall call my spirit, joyful in th… When, poised upon the gale, my for… Or, dark in mist, descend the moun… Oh! may my shade behold no sculptu…
How sweetly shines through azure s… The lamp of heaven on Lora’s shor… Where Alva’s hoary turrets rise, And hear the din of arms no more! But often has yon rolling moon
Remind me not, remind me not, Of those beloved, those vanish’d h… When all my soul was given to thee… Hours that may never be forgot, Till Time unnerves our vital powe…
When some proud son of man returns… Unknown to glory, but upheld by bi… The sculptor’s art exhausts the po… And storied urns record who rest b… When all is done, upon the tomb is…
Rousseau—Voltaire—our Gibbon—De… Leman! these names are worthy of t… Thy shore of names like these! wer… Their memory thy remembrance would… To them thy banks were lovely as t…
It is the hour when from the bough… The nightingale’s high note is hea… It is the hour when lovers’ vows Seem sweet in every whisper’d word… And gentle winds, and waters near,
ÃGLE, beauty and poet, has two l… She makes her own face, and does n…
Born in the garret, in the kitchen… Promoted thence to deck her mistre… Next for some gracious service une… And from its wages only to be gues… Raised from the toilette to the ta…