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English poet
(1793 - 1835)
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There is strength and a fierce instinct, even in common souls, to bear up manhood with a stormy joy when red swords meet in lightning.
      - [War]

There is strength deep-bedded in our hearts, of which we reck but little till the shafts of heaven have pierced its fragile dwelling. Must not earth be rent before her gems are found?
      - [Adversity]

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death!
      - [Death]

Thou'rt bearing hence thy roses,
  Glad summer, fare thee well!
    Thou'rt singing thy last melodies
      In every wood and dell.
      - [Summer]

We endow
  Those whom we love, in our fond, passionate blindness,
    With power upon our souls too absolute
      To be a mortal's trust.
      - [Soul]

We endow those whom we love, in our fond, passionate blindness, with power upon our souls too absolute to be a mortal's trust.
      - [Power]

Where'er a spire points up to heaven,
  Through storm and summer air,
    Telling that all around have striven,
      Man's heart, and hope, and prayer.
      - [Spires]

Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth by the winds which tell of the violet's birth.
      - [Spring]

Fair land! of chivalry the old domain,
  Land of the vine and olive, lovely Spain!
    Though not for thee with classic shores to vie
      In charms that fix th' enthusiast's pensive eye;
        Yet hast thou scenes of beauty richly fraught
          With all that wakes the glow of lofty thought.
      - Abencerrage (canto II, l. 1) [Spain]

They speak of hope to the fainting heart,
  With a voice of promise they come and part,
    They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,
      They break forth in glory--bring flowers, bright flowers!
      - Bring Flowers [Flowers]

The boy stood on the burning deck
  Whence all but he had fled;
    The flame that lit the battle's wreck,
      Shone round him o'er the dead.
        . . . .
          The flames roll'd on--he would not go
            Without his Father's word;
              That father, faint in death below,
                His voice no longer heard.
      - Casabianca [Books (First Lines) : Heroes]

Where shall we make her grave?
  Oh! where the wild flowers wave
    In the free air!
      When shower and singing-bird
        'Midst the young leaves are heard,
          There--lay her there!
      - Dirge--Where Shall we Make her Grave?

There shall be no more snow
  No weary noontide heat,
    So we lift our trusting eyes
      From the hills our Fathers trod:
        To the quiet of the skies:
          To the Sabbath of our God.
      - Evening Song of the Tyrolese Peasants

The stately Homes of England,
  How beautiful they stand!
    Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
      O'er all the pleasant land.
      - Homes of England [Home]

Leaves have their time to fall,
  And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
    And stars to set--but all.
      Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death.
      - Hour of Death [Death]

The breaking waves dashed high
  On a stern and rock-bound coast;
    And the woods against a stormy sky,
      Their giant branches toss'd.
      - Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers
        [America : Ocean]

What sought they thus afar?
  Bright jewels of the mine?
    The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?--
      They sought a faith's pure shrine!
      - Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers [Faith]

There's beauty all around our paths, if but our watchful eyes
  Can trace it 'midst familiar things, and through their lowly guise.
      - Our Daily Paths [Beauty]

Through the laburnum's dropping gold
  Rose the light shaft of orient mould,
    And Europe's violets, faintly sweet,
      Purpled the moss-beds at its feet.
      - Palm-Tree [Flowers]

It is written on the rose
  In its glory's full array:
    Read what those buds disclose--
      "Passing away."
      - Passing Away [Roses]

"Passing away" is written on the world and all the world contains.
      - Passing Away [Death]

We pine for kindred natures
  To mingle with our own.
      - Psyche Borne by Zephyrs to the Island of Pleasure

Rome, Rome, thou art no more
  As thou hast been!
    On thy seven hills of yore
      Thou sat'st a queen.
      - Roman Girl's Song [Rome]

Thou hast fair forms that move
  With queenly tread;
    Thou hast proud fanes above
      Thy mighty dread.
        Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
          A mournful mien:--
            Rome, Rome, thou art no more
              As thou hast been.
      - Roman Girl's Song [Tiber River]

There is none,
  In all this cold and hollow world, no fount
    Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within
      A mother's heart.
      - Siege of Valencia
         (sc. Room in a Palace of Valencia)

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