For Music
THERE be none of Beauty’s daughters With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean’s pausing,
I would to heaven that I were so much clay
I would to heaven that I were so much clay, As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling – Because at least the past were passed away – And for the future – (but
Prometheus
Titan! to whose immortal eyes The sufferings of mortality, Seen in their sad reality, Were not as things that gods despise; What was thy pity’s recompense? A silent suffering, and intense; The rock, the
Remind Me Not, Remind Me Not
Remind me not, remind me not, Of those beloved, those vanish’d hours, When all my soul was given to thee; Hours that may never be forgot, Till Time unnerves our vital powers, And thou
To A Lady
O! had my Fate been join’d with thine, As once this pledge appear’d a token, These follies had not, then, been mine, For, then, my peace had not been broken. To thee, these early
The Giaour
A Fragment of a Turkish Tale The tale which these disjointed fragments present, is founded upon circumstances now less common in the East than formerly; either because the ladies are more circumspect than in
John Keats
Who killed John Keats? ‘I,’ says the Quarterly, So savage and Tartarly; ”Twas one of my feats.’ Who shot the arrow? ‘The poet-priest Milman (So ready to kill man), Or Southey or Barrow.’
The Prisoner of Chillon
I My hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men’s have grown from sudden fears: My limbs are bow’d, though not with toil, But rusted
Stanzas To Jessy
There is a mystic thread of life So dearly wreath’d with mine alone, That Destiny’s relentless knife At once must sever both, or none. There is a Form on which these eyes Have fondly
Sonnet to Lake Leman
Rousseau Voltaire our Gibbon De StaŠ»l Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore, Thy shore of names like these! wert thou no more, Their memory thy remembrance would recall: To them thy banks
Remember Him, Whom Passion's Power
Remember him, whom Passion’s power Severely – deeply – vainly proved: Remember thou that dangerous hour, When neither fell, though both were loved. That yielding breast, that melting eye, Too much invited to be
Stanzas Composed During A Thunderstorm
Chill and mirk is the nightly blast, Where Pindus’ mountains rise, And angry clouds are pouring fast The vengeance of the skies. Our guides are gone, our hope is lost, And lightnings, as they
And Thou Art Dead, As Young and Fair
And thou art dead, as young and fair As aught of mortal birth; And form so soft, and charms so rare, Too soon return’d to Earth! Though Earth receiv’d them in her bed, And
My Soul is Dark
My soul is dark – Oh! quickly string The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers fling Its melting murmurs o’er mine ear. If in this heart a hope
The Siege of Corinth
ADVERTISEMENT “The grand army of the Turks, (in 1715), under the Prime Vizier, to open to themselves a way into the heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of Napoli di Romania,