COME, Sleep! but mind ye! if you… The little girl that struck me at… By Jove! I would not give you hal… For all your poppy—heads and all y…
WITH rosy hand a little girl pre… A boss of fresh—cull’d cowslips in… Often as they sprang up again, a f… Show’d she dislik’d resistance to… But when they droop’d their heads…
Here, where precipitate Spring wi… Into hot Summer’s lusty arms expi… And where go forth at morn, at eve… Soft airs, that want the lute to p… And softer sighs, that know not wh…
I wander o’er the sandy heath Where the white rush waves high, Where adders close before me wreat… And tawny kites sail screaming by. Alone I wander; I alone
I loved him not; and yet, now he i… I feel I am alone. I check’d him while he spoke; yet,… Alas! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once…
LO! where the four mimosas blend… In calm repose at last is Landor… For ere he slept he saw them plant… By her his soul had ever held most… And he had liv’d enough when he ha…
Ianthe! you are call’d to cross th… A path forbidden me! Remember, while the Sun his bless… Upon the mountain—heads, How often we have watcht him layin…
To my ninth decade I have tottere… And no soft arm bends now my steps… She, who once led me where she wou… So when he calls me, Death shall…
REMAIN, ah not in youth alone! —Tho’ youth, where you are, long w… But when my summer days are gone, And my autumnal haste away. ‘Can I be always by your side?’
What mortal first by adverse fate… Trampled by tyranny or scoffed by… Stung by remorse or wrung by pover… Bade with fond sigh his native lau… Wretched! but tenfold wretched who…
There is delight in singing, tho’… Beside the singer; and there is de… In praising, tho’ the praiser sit… And see the prais’d far off him, f… Shakspeare is not our poet, but th…
Mild is the parting year, and swee… The odour of the falling spray; Life passes on more rudely fleet, And balmless is its closing day. I wait its close, I court its glo…
O’erfoaming with rage The foul—mouth’d judge Page Thus question’d a thief in the doc… “Didst never hear read In the church, lump of lead!
I COME to visit thee agen, My little flowerless cyclamen; To touch the hand, almost to press… That cheer’d thee in thy lonelines… What could thy careful guardian fi…
NO, my own love of other years! No, it must never be. Much rests with you that yet endea… Alas! but what with me? Could those bright years o’er me r…