209 quotes
Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.
Treading beneath their feet all visible things,
As steps that upwards to their Father's throne
Lead gradual.
The moving Moon went up the sky,
And nowhere did abide;
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside.
Bloom, O ye Amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not!
Work without Hope (1825)
When the last rook
Beat its straight path along the dusky air
Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,
Hath a toothless mastiff bitch.
Christabel (1797)
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element!
Utter forth ' God,' and fill the hills with praise!
Hymn before Sunrise, in the Vale of Chamouni (1802)
So lonely 'twas that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.
The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doth wash your city of Cologne;
But tell me, Nymphs, what power divine
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?
I fear thee, ancyent Marinere!
I fear thy skinny hand;
And thou art long and lank and brown
As is the ribb’d Sea-sand.
The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere (1798)
Moral obligation is to me so very strong a Stimulant, that in 9 cases out of ten it acts as a Narcotic. The Blow that should rouse, stuns me.
O! I do love thee, meek Simplicity!
The Beautiful arises from the perceived harmony of an object, whether sight or sound, with the inborn and constitutive rules of the judgment and imagination: and it is always intuitive.
On the Principles of Genial Criticism (1814)
Translation of poetry into poetry is difficult, because the translator must give a brilliancy to his language without that warmth of original conception, from which such brilliancy would follow of its own accord.
Schiller's Tragedies (1844)
Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.
Christabel (1797)
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,—
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder:
A dreary sea now flows between.
Christabel (1797)
Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
This lime-tree bower my prison!
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.
Carv'd with figures strange and sweet,
All made out of the carver's brain.
Christabel (1797)
Lingering he raised his latch at eve,
Though tired in heart and limb:
He loved no other place, and yet
Home was no home to him.