Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect, Who to woman deny the soul's future existence, Could they see thee, Eliza! they'd own their defect, And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance....
Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue Bright as thy mother's in their hue; Those rosy lips, whose dimples play And smile to steal the heart away, Recall a scene of former joy,...
Parent of golden dreams, Romance! Auspicious Queen of childish joys, Who lead'st along, in airy dance, Thy votive train of girls and boys; At length, in spells no longer bound,...
You have asked for a verse: - the request In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny; But my Hippocrene was but my breast, And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.
Dorset! whose early steps with mine have stray'd, Exploring every path of Ida's glade; Whom, still, affection taught me to defend, And made me less a tyrant than a friend,...
Your pardon my friend, If my rhymes did offend, Your pardon a thousand times o'er, From friendship I strove, Your pangs to remove, But I swear I will do so no more.
Woman! experience might have told me That all must love thee, who behold thee: Surely experience might have taught Thy firmest promises are nought; But, plac'd in all thy charms before me,...
Equal to Jove that youth must be - Greater than Jove he seems to me - Who, free from Jealousy's alarms, Securely views thy matchless charms; That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,...
Ye Cupids droop each little head, Nor let your wings with joy be spread, My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead, Which dearer than her eyes she lov'd: For he was gentle and so true,...
Ye Cupids, droop each little head, Nor let your wings with joy be spread, My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead, Whom dearer than her eyes she lov'd: For he was gentle, and so true,...
Sonnet composed in the name of a father, whose daughter had recently died shortly after her marriage; and addressed to the father of her who had lately taken the veil.
He who, sublime, in epic numbers roll'd, And he who struck the softer lyre of Love, By Death's unequal[1] hand alike controul'd, Fit comrades in Elysian regions move!
'Tis midnight - but it is not dark Within thy spacious place, St. Mark! The Lights within, the Lamps without, Shine above the revel rout. The brazen Steeds are glittering o'er...