Search

Search results

Robinson, sorrow, in English Clear filters

SadRobinson

Sonnet XXXIII: I Wake

I wake! delusive phantoms hence, away! Tempt not the weakness of a lover's breast; The softest breeze can shake the halcyon's nest, And lightest clouds o'ercast the dawning ray! 'Twas but a vision! Now, the star of day Peers, like a gem on Aetna's burning crest! Wellcome, ye Hills, with golden vintage drest; Sicilian forests brown, and vallies gay! A mournful stranger, from the Lesbian Isle, Not strange, in loftiest eulogy of Song! She, who could teach the Stoic's cheek to smile, Thaw the cold heart, and chain the wond'ring throng, Can find no balm, love's arrows to beguile; Ah! Sorrows known too soon! and felt too long!
SadRobinson

Sonnet XXXVII: When, in the Gloomy Mansion

When, in the gloomy mansion of the dead, This with'ring heart, this faded form shall sleep; When these fond eyes, at length shall cease to weep, And earth's cold lap receive this fev'rish head; Envy shall turn away, a tear to shed, And Time's obliterating pinions sweep The spot, where poets shall their vigils keep, To mourn and wander near my freezing bed! Then, my pale ghost, upon th' Elysian shore, Shall smile, releas'd from ev'ry mortal care; Whil, doom'd love's victim to repine no more, My breast shall bathe in endless rapture there! Ah! no!my restless shade would still deplore, Nor taste that bliss, which Phaon did not share.
SadRobinson

Sonnet XXVI: Where Antique Woods

Where antique woods o'er-hang the mountains's crest, And mid-day glooms in solemn silence lour; Philosophy, go seek a lonely bow'r, And waste life's fervid noon in fancied rest. Go, where the bird of sorrow weaves her nest, Cooing, in sadness sweet, through night's dim hour; Go, cull the dew-drops from each potent flow'r That med'cines to the cold and reas'ning breast! Go, where the brook in liquid lapse steals by, Scarce heard amid'st the mingling echoes round, What time, the noon fades slowly down the sky, And slumb'ring zephyrs moan, in caverns bound: Be these thy pleasures, dull Philosophy! Nor vaunt the balm, to heal a lover's wound.

Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem

Or try: