 Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with this untimely moan ; They might lament — for I am one Whom men love not, — and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the...  The New Annual Register, Or General Repository of History, Politics, and ... - Página 1601825Vista completa - Acerca de este libro
 | 1824 - 798 páginas
...dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with...Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoy 'd, like joy in memory yet. The following lines also appear to us extremely beautiful, though,... | |
 | 1824 - 984 páginas
...dying brain its last monotony Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with...for I am one Whom men love not, — and yet regret, Ualike this day, which, when the sun Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, tho1 enjoy'd, like... | |
 | Percy Bysshe Shelley - 1824 - 438 páginas
...dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with...Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. December, 1818. AUTUMN: A DIRGE. THE warm sun is failing, the bleak... | |
 | 1824 - 818 páginas
...last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which mylost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with this untimely...Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoy 'd, like joy in memory yet. The following lines also appear to us extremely beautiful, though,... | |
 | 1824 - 488 páginas
...dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament when I were cold, As I when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with...one Whom men love not, — and yet regret, Unlike tius day, which, when the sun Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy... | |
 | Thomas Campbell, Samuel Carter Hall, Edward Bulwer Lytton Baron Lytton, Theodore Edward Hook, Thomas Hood, William Harrison Ainsworth, William Ainsworth - 1824 - 604 páginas
...brain its lust monotony. 44 Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone. Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with...They might lament — for I am one Whom men love not, — und yet regret. Unlike this day, which, when the sun Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger,... | |
 | Thomas Campbell, Samuel Carter Hall, Edward Bulwer Lytton Baron Lytton, Theodore Edward Hook, Thomas Hood, William Harrison Ainsworth, William Ainsworth - 1824 - 598 páginas
...when lliis swcei day is gone, .., . н , Which my lost heart, too »oon grown ojd, Insults with i Ы . untimely moan ; They might lament— for I am one...yet regret«, , ,] Unlike this day, which, when the sua Shall on its stainless glory »et, Will linger, though enjoy'd, like joy in memory yet." We have... | |
 | 1824 - 486 páginas
...dying brain its last monotony. Sonic might lament when I were cold, As I when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with this untimely moan ; They might lament, — for 1 am onr, Whom men love not, — and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sun Shall on its... | |
 | Percy Bysshe Shelley - 1824 - 440 páginas
...dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with this untimely moan; They might lament—for I am one Whom men love not,—and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sun Shall... | |
 | Percy Bysshe Shelley - 1826 - 156 páginas
...lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon%rown oUl, Insults with this untimely moan ; They might lament...Shall' on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. December, 1818. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 51 AUTUMN; THE warm sun is failing,... | |
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