#EnglishWriters
Extract from Poetical Essay Millions to fight compell’d, to fi… In mangled heaps on War’s red alt… When the legal murders swell the l… When glory’s views the titled idio…
Arise, arise, arise! There is blood on the earth that d… Be your wounds like eyes To weep for the dead, the dead, th… What other grief were it just to p…
Ever as now with Love and Virtue’… May thy unwithering soul not cease… Still may thine heart with those p… Which force from mine such quick a…
O World! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had sto… When will return the glory of your… No more—oh, never more!
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…
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.
A shovel of his ashes took From the hearth’s obscurest nook, Muttering mysteries as she went. Helen and Henry knew that Granny Was as much afraid of Ghosts as a…
The death-bell beats!— The mountain repeats The echoing sound of the knell; And the dark Monk now Wraps the cowl round his brow,
No, Music, thou art not the ‘food… Unless Love feeds upon its own sw… Till it becomes all Music murmurs…
I met a traveller from an antique… Who said—“Two vast and trunkless… Stand in the desert... Near them,… Half sunk a shattered visage lies,… And wrinkled lip, and sneer of col…
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken… Rose leaves, when the rose is dead…
FIRST SPIRIT O thou, who plum’d with strong des… Wouldst float above the earth, bew… A Shadow tracks thy flight of fir… Night is coming!
Arethusa arose From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains,— From cloud and from crag, With many a jag,
The fitful alternations of the rai… When the chill wind, languid as wi… Of its own heavy moisture, here an… Drives through the gray and beamle…
ONE word is too often profaned For me to profane it; One feeling too falsely disdain’d For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair