The Burning Of The Garden Palace (Emily Mary Barton Poems)
RUINS! Alas we have been wont to say,With half regretful tone, that in the graceAnd glory of our country's youthful ...
RUINS! Alas we have been wont to say,With half regretful tone, that in the graceAnd glory of our country's youthful ...
"On hill and field October's glories fade;O'er hill and field the blackbirds southward fly; The brown leaves rustle down tbe ...
I WATCH the ships by town and leaWith sails full set glide out to sea,Till by the distant lighthouse rockThe ...
Stuffed with tradition and trammels of yore, Cramped in their studies, they sneer and scoldAt the strange, new passions young ...
Away to sweet Felpham, for heaven is there. -- BLAKE. Here Blake saw the seventy-seven Stairs, and golden gates of ...
WHEN black midnight owls their hootingCease, and whisperings ebb and fall,Buds are shaken,And thin shootingTendrils waken -Fairies call IGaily crickets ...
Lo, a pallid fleecy vapour Far along the East is spread;Every star has quench'd its taper, Lately glimmering over head.On ...
"I STOOD within the cypress gloom Where old Ferrara's dead are laid, And mused on many a sculptured tomb, ...
There is a house that most of all on earth I hate.Though I have passed through many sorrows and have ...
Ye who have passed Death's haggard hills; and yeWhom trees that knew your sires shall cease to knowAnd still stand ...
EARTH loves to gibber o'er her dross, Her golden souls, to waste; The cup she fills for her god-men Is ...
There is a quiet spirit in these woods, That dwells where'er the gentle south-wind blows; Where, underneath the white-thorn, in ...
Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours, Fair Venus' train, appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers, And wake the purple year! The Attic ...
Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: They leaned soft cheeks together there, Mingled the dark and sunny hair, And heard ...
Oh happy shades--to me unblest! Friendly to peace, but not to me! How ill the scene that offers rest, And ...
I He wakes in darkness. All around are sounds of stones shifting, locks unlocking. As if some one had lifted ...
Mother of musings, Contemplation sage, Whose grotto stands upon the topmost rock Of Teneriffe; 'mid the tempestuous night, On which, ...
Glad as the weary traveller tempest-tost To reach secure at length his native coast, Who wandering long o'er distant lands ...
You like my bird-sung gardens: wings and flowers; Calm landscapes for emotion; star-lit lawns; And Youth against the sun-rise ... ...
SWEET BIRD OF SORROW! why complain In such soft melody of Song, That ECHO, am'rous of thy Strain, The ling'ring ...
In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells, And ever-musing melancholy reigns; What means this tumult in ...
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