Category Poets

DAKRYSI DIOISW POTMON APOTMON Oh! there are spirits of the air,And genii of the evening breeze,And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fairAs star-beams among twilight trees:—Such lovely ministers to meetOft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet. With mountain…

Music, when soft voices die,Vibrates in the memory—Odours, when sweet violets sicken,Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,Are heaped for the beloved’s bed;And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,Love itself shall slumber on.

I.I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden,Thou needest not fear mine;My spirit is too deeply ladenEver to burthen thine. II.I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion,Thou needest not fear mine;Innocent is the heart’s devotionWith which I worship thine.

Thy little footsteps on the sandsOf a remote and lonely shore;The twinkling of thine infant hands,Where now the worm will feed no more;Thy mingled look of love and gleeWhen we returned to gaze on thee—

(With what truth may I say—Roma! Roma! Roma!Non e piu come era prima!) I.My lost William, thou in whomSome bright spirit lived, and didThat decaying robe consumeWhich its lustre faintly hid,—Here its ashes find a tomb,But beneath this pyramidThou art…

I.The billows on the beach are leaping around it,The bark is weak and frail,The sea looks black, and the clouds that bound itDarkly strew the gale.Come with me, thou delightful child,Come with me, though the wave is wild,And the winds…

I.Brothers! between you and meWhirlwinds sweep and billows roar:Yet in spirit oft I seeOn thy wild and winding shoreFreedom’s bloodless banners wave,—Feel the pulses of the braveUnextinguished in the grave,—See them drenched in sacred gore,—Catch the warrior’s gasping breathMurmuring ‘Liberty…

I.Shall we roam, my love,To the twilight grove,When the moon is rising bright;Oh, I’ll whisper there,In the cool night-air,What I dare not in broad daylight! II.I’ll tell thee a partOf the thoughts that startTo being when thou art nigh;And thy…

Month after month the gathered rains descendDrenching yon secret Aethiopian dells,And from the desert’s ice-girt pinnaclesWhere Frost and Heat in strange embraces blendOn Atlas, fields of moist snow half depend.Girt there with blasts and meteors Tempest dwellsBy Nile’s aereal urn,…

I.Moonbeam, leave the shadowy vale,To bathe this burning brow.Moonbeam, why art thou so pale,As thou walkest o’er the dewy dale,Where humble wild-flowers grow?Is it to mimic me?But that can never be;For thine orb is bright,And the clouds are light,That at…