Hyperion
BOOK I Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve’s one star, Sat gray-hair’d Saturn, quiet as a stone,
To Hope
When by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my “mind’s eye” flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet
Answer To A Sonnet By J. H. Reynolds
“Dark eyes are dearer far Than those that mock the hyacinthine bell.” Blue! ‘Tis the life of heaven,-the domain Of Cynthia,-the wide palace of the sun,- The tent of Hesperus, and all his train,-
To –
Had I a man’s fair form, then might my sighs Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell, Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well Would passion arm me for the enterprise: But
When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be
When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripen’d grain; When I behold,
On Seeing The Elgin Marbles For The First Time
My spirit is too weak; mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagined pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick eagle looking at the