Hyperion. Book II (John Keats Poems)
Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wingsHyperion slid into the rustled air,And Saturn gain'd with Thea that sad ...
Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wingsHyperion slid into the rustled air,And Saturn gain'd with Thea that sad ...
SCENE I.[The hall of a country house in Westmoreland, surrounded with portraits of the M. . . . family. Allan ...
I am a little world made cunningly.Donne.COME, let me sound thy depths, unquiet seaOf thought and passion; let thy wild ...
The AngelsSoft and slow, soft and slow,With angels' wings of fire and snow,To rock Him gently to and fro.Fire to ...
THE worst of tortures fate can findTo lacerate the feeling mind,And rob the soul of rest,Is, when its adverse laws ...
A LOVER, when he first essaysA lady's heart to gain,A thousand tender fears betrays,And talks of jealous pain.All day he ...
LAND of departed fame! whose classic plains Have proudly echo'd to immortal strains; Whose hallow'd soil hath given the great ...
To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things To low ambition, and ...
O MIRACLE of love! You whom I adore unto delirium, Your arms are white lilies upon my bosom. Stars encircle ...
MY God, who art the God of loneliness, Who, Life of human souls, art yet alone, Who, Lord of joy, ...
NOW I am cast into the serpent pitAnd, catching difficult breathFrom the writhing, loathsome, ceaseless stir of it,The venomous whispers ...
So here's your Empire. No more wine, then? Good. We'll clear the Aides and khitmatgars away. (You'll know that fat ...
BOOK I Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from ...
Much wonder I--here long low-laid - That this dead wall should be Betwixt the Maker and the made, Between Thyself ...
I. How well I know what I mean to do When the long dark autumn-evenings come: And where, my soul, ...
But do not let us quarrel any more, No, my Lucrezia; bear with me for once: Sit down and all ...
Thy petals yet are closely curled, Rose of the world, Around their scented, golden core; Nor yet has Summer purpled ...
He's got a Blighty wound. He's safe; and then War's fine and bold and bright. She can forget the doomed ...
To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride ...
The First Epistle Awake, my ST. JOHN!(1) leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of Kings. Let ...
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