Category Poets

Fierce roars the midnight stormO’er the wild mountain,Dark clouds the night deform,Swift rolls the fountain— See! o’er yon rocky height,Dim mists are flying—See by the moon’s pale light,Poor Laura’s dying! Shame and remorse shall howl,By her false pillow—Fiercer than storms…

Stern, stern is the voice of fate’s fearful command,When accents of horror it breathes in our ear,Or compels us for aye bid adieu to the land,Where exists that loved friend to our bosom so dear, ‘Tis sterner than death o’er…

Come Harriet! sweet is the hour,Soft Zephyrs breathe gently around,The anemone’s night-boding flower,Has sunk its pale head on the ground. ‘Tis thus the world’s keenness hath torn,Some mild heart that expands to its blast,‘Tis thus that the wretched forlorn,Sinks poor…

Cold, cold is the blast when December is howling,Cold are the damps on a dying man’s brow,—Stern are the seas when the wild waves are rolling,And sad is the grave where a loved one lies low;But colder is scorn from…

I.Men of England, wherefore ploughFor the lords who lay ye low?Wherefore weave with toil and careThe rich robes your tyrants wear? II.Wherefore feed and clothe and save,From the cradle to the grave,Those ungrateful drones who wouldDrain your sweat—nay, drink your…

I.Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,Thou from whose immortal bosomGods, and men, and beasts have birth,Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,Breathe thine influence most divineOn thine own child, Proserpine. II.If with mists of evening dewThou dost nourish these young flowersTill they…

See yon opening flowerSpreads its fragrance to the blast;It fades within an hour,Its decay is pale—is fast.Paler is yon maiden;Faster is her heart’s decay;Deep with sorrow laden,She sinks in death away.

I.I loved—alas! our life is love;But when we cease to breathe and moveI do suppose love ceases too.I thought, but not as now I do,Keen thoughts and bright of linked lore,Of all that men had thought before.And all that Nature…

I.The death-bell beats!—The mountain repeatsThe echoing sound of the knell;And the dark Monk nowWraps the cowl round his brow,As he sits in his lonely cell. II.And the cold hand of deathChills his shuddering breath,As he lists to the fearful layWhich…

I.As from an ancestral oakTwo empty ravens sound their clarion,Yell by yell, and croak by croak,When they scent the noonday smokeOf fresh human carrion:— II.As two gibbering night-birds flitFrom their bowers of deadly yewThrough the night to frighten it,When the…