The breathing freshness of the shining Morn, Whose beams glance yellow on the distant fields, A sweet, unutterable pleasure yields To my dejected sense, that turns with scorn...
Since my griev'd mind some energy regains, Industrious habits can, at times, repress The weight of filial woe, the deep distress Of life-long separation; yet its pains,...
Thou silent Door of our eternal sleep, Sickness, and pain, debility, and woes, All the dire train of ills Existence knows, Thou shuttest out FOR EVER! - Why then weep...
Like to a ship that storms urge on its course, By its own trials our soul is surer made. The very things that make the voyage worse Do make it better; its peril is its aid....
How sweet to rove, from summer sun-beams veil'd, In gloomy dingles; or to trace the tide Of wandering brooks, their pebbly beds that chide; To feel the west-wind cool refreshment yield,...
Oh, that I were the spirit of these wilds! I'd make the zephyrs dance for my delight, And lead a life as happy as a child's. Echo should tremble with unfeigned affright,...
Like as a dryad, from her native bole Coming at dusk, when the dim stars emerge, To a slow river at whose silent verge Tall poplars tremble and deep grasses roll, Come thou no less and, kneeling in a shoal...
As the lone, frighted user of a night-road Suddenly turns round, nothing to detect, Yet on his fear's sense keepeth still the load Of that brink-nothing he doth but suspect;...
Chill'd by unkind Honora's alter'd eye, "Why droops my heart with fruitless woes forlorn," Thankless for much of good? - what thousands, born To ceaseless toil beneath this wintry sky,...
The moon shone down on fair Eliza's face, And made it beautiful. No fitter place Could she have chosen for her gracious smile; For as she sat there in the languid light,...
I fancied, while you stood conversing there, Superb, in every attitude a queen, Her ermine thus Boadicea bare, So moved amid the multitude Faustine. My life, whose whole religion Beauty is,...
When I should be asleep to mine own voice In telling thee how much thy love's my dream, I find me listening to myself, the noise Of my words othered in my hearing them....
Thou child of NIGHT, and SILENCE, balmy SLEEP, Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow! And charm to rest the thoughts of whence, or how Vanish'd that priz'd AFFECTION, wont to keep...