#EnglishWriters
No popular respect will I omit To do thee honor on this happy day… When every loyal lover tasks his w… His simple truth in studious rhyme… And to his mistress dear his hopes…
‘Oh where, and oh where Is my bonny laddie gone?’ _Old Song_. One day, as I was going by That part of Holborn christened H…
Is there a bitter pang for love re… O God! The dead love doth not cos… Than the alive, the loving, the be… Not yet, not yet beyond all hopes… Would I were laid
Lady, wouldst thou heiress be To Winters cold and cruel part? When he sets the rivers free, Thou dost still lock up thy heart;… Thou that shouldst outlast the sno…
’Twas in that mellow season of the… When the hot sun singes the yellow… Till they be gold,—and with a broa… The Moon looks down on Ceres and… When more abundantly the spider we…
—Methought I saw Life swiftly treading over endless… And, at her foot-print, but a bygo… The ocean-past, which, with increa… Swallow’d her steps like a pursuin…
O saw ye not fair Ines? She 's gone into the West, To dazzle when the sun is down, And rob the world of rest: She took our daylight with her,
Sigh on, sad heart, for Love’s ec… And Beauty’s fairest queen, Though ’tis not for my peasant lip… To soil her name between: A king might lay his sceptre down,
‘On the east coast, towards Tunis, the Moors still preserve the key of their ancestors’ houses in Spain; to which country they still express the hopes of one day returning and again pla...
The Autumn is old, The sere leaves are flying;— He hath gather’d up gold, And now he is dying;— Old Age, begin sighing!
I saw old Autumn in the misty mor… Stand shadowless like Silence, li… To silence, for no lonely bird wou… Into his hollow ear from woods for… Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn…
BIANCA!—fair Bianca!—who could… With safety on her dark and hazel… Nor find there lurk’d in it a witc… Fatal to balmy nights and blessed… The peaceful breath that made the…
She’s up and gone, the graceless g… And robb’d my failing years! My blood before was thin and cold But now ’tis turn’d to tears;— My shadow falls upon my grave,
Farewell, Life! My senses swim, And the world is growing dim; Thronging shadows cloud the light, Like the advent of the night,— Colder, colder, colder still,
Oh! take, young Seraph, take thy… And play to me so cheerily; For grief is dark, and care is sha… And life wears on so wearily. Oh! take thy harp!