#EnglishWriters
How swiftly through Heaven’s wide… Bright day’s resplendent colours f… How sweetly does the moonbeam’s gl… With silver tint St. Irvyne’s gla… II.
Thou wert not, Cassius, and thou… Last of the Romans, though thy me… From Brutus his own glory—and on… Rests the full splendour of his sa… Nor he who dared make the foul tyr…
Dakrysi Dioisw Potmon Apotmon Oh! there are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fa… As star-beams among twilight trees…
I would not be a king—enough Of woe it is to love; The path to power is steep and rou… And tempests reign above. I would not climb the imperial thr…
No, Music, thou art not the ‘food… Unless Love feeds upon its own sw… Till it becomes all Music murmurs…
And, like a dying lady lean and pa… Who totters forth, wrapp’d in a ga… Out of her chamber, led by the ins… And feeble wanderings of her fadin… The moon arose up in the murky eas…
Thou living light that in thy rain… Clothest this naked world; and ove… And Earth and air, and all the sh… In peopled darkness of this wondro… The Spirit of thy glory dost diff…
Thy little footsteps on the sands Of a remote and lonely shore; The twinkling of thine infant hand… Where now the worm will feed no mo… Thy mingled look of love and glee
'How beautiful this night! the bal… Which vernal zephyrs breathe in ev… Were discord to the speaking quiet… That wraps this moveless scene. H… Studded with stars unutterably bri…
Rough wind, that moanest loud Grief too sad for song; Wild wind, when sullen cloud Knells all the night long; Sad storm whose tears are vain,
MY faint spirit was sitting in th… Of thy looks, my love; It panted for thee like the hin… For the brooks, my love. Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the…
DRAMATIS PERSONÃ Count Francesco Cenci. Giacomo, his Son. Bernardo, his Son. Cardinal Camillo.
Alas! this is not what I thought… I knew that there were crimes and… Misery and hate; nor did I hope t… Untouched by suffering, through th… In mine own heart I saw as in a g…
Come, thou awakener of the spirit’… Zephyr, whom to thy cloud or cave No thought can trace! speed with t…
The spider spreads her webs, wheth… In poet’s tower, cellar, or barn,… The silk-worm in the dark green mu… His winding sheet and cradle ever… So I, a thing whom moralists call…