#EnglishWriters
Why each is striving, from of old, To love more deeply than he can? Still would be true, yet still gro… —Ask of the Powers that sport wit… They yok’d in him, for endless str…
A region desolate and wild, Black, chafing water: and afloat, And lonely as a truant child In a waste wood, a single boat: No mast, no sails are set thereon;
That son of Italy who tried to bl… Ere Dante came, the trump of sacr… In his light youth amid a festal t… Sate with his bride to see a publi… Fair was the bride, and on her fro…
Foil’d by our fellow-men, depress’… We leave the brutal world to take… And, Patience! in another life, w… The world shall be thrust down, an… And will not, then, the immortal a…
In * the cedar shadow sleeping, Where cool grass and fragrant gloo… Oft at noon have lur’d me, creepin… From your darken’d palace rooms: I, who in your train at morning…
Come, dear children, let us away; Down and away below! Now my brothers call from the bay, Now the great winds shoreward blow… Now the salt tides seaward flow;
A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of Tim… Brimming with wonder and joy He spreads out his arms to the lig…
'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is… And ease from shame, and rest from… There’s nothing can dismarble now The smoothness of that limpid brow… But is a calm like this, in truth,
In the deserted, moon-blanched str… How lonely rings the echo of my fe… Those windows, which I gaze at, f… Silent and white, unopening down, Repellent as the world,—but see,
My horse’s feet beside the lake, Where sweet the unbroken moonbeams… Sent echoes through the night to w… Each glistening strand, each heath… The poplar avenue was pass’d,
I too have suffer’d: yet I know She is not cold, though she seems… She is not cold, she is not light; But our ignoble souls lack might. She smiles and smiles, and will no…
We, O Nature, depart, Thou survivest us! this, This, I know, is the law. Yes! but more than this, Thou who seest us die
In this lone, open glade I lie, Screen’d by deep boughs on either… And at its end, to stay the eye, Those black-crown’d, red-boled pin… Birds here make song, each bird ha…
AS the kindling glances, Queen-like and clear, Which the bright moon lances From her tranquil sphere At the sleepless waters
Again I see my bliss at hand; The town, the lake are here. My Marguerite smiles upon the str… Unalter’d with the year. I know that graceful figure fair,