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" Yet now despair itself is mild Even as the winds and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek... "
Spirit of the English Magazines - Página 480
1824
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Lord Byron and Some of His Contemporaries: With Recollections of ..., Volumen 1

Leigh Hunt - 1828 - 512 páginas
...like a tired child, And u-eep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death, like sleep, might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the tea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. "Some might lament that I were cold, As I when this...
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The American Monthly Magazine, Volumen 1

1829 - 440 páginas
...tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have born and yet must bear, Till death-like sloop might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air...'Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with tlu's untimely moan ; . They might lament — for I am one Whom men love not, — and yet regret, Unlike...
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The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: Complete in ..., Volumen 1

Samuel Taylor Coleridge - 1829 - 575 páginas
...moootony. Some might lament that I vere cold, A» I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, loo soon grown old, Insults with this untimely moan ; They might lament — for I am oue Whom men love not, — and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sun Shall on its -iinil.--...
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The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: Complete in One Volume

Samuel Taylor Coleridge - 1831 - 628 páginas
...like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death lf luve not, — nfid yet regret, Unlike mis day, which, when the sun Shall on it» stainless glory set,...
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The Magazine of the beau monde; or, Monthly journal of fashion [afterw.] The ...

1831 - 542 páginas
...like a tired child, And weep away the lite of care Which I have borne and yet most bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My check grow cold, and hear tne Sea Breathe o'er my dying brain in last monotony Some might lament that...
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The Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, with His Life, Volumen 1

Percy Bysshe Shelley - 1834 - 888 páginas
...like a tired child. And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till deatti like sleep might steal on me. And I might feel in...grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying hrain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when Ihis sweet day is gone, They...
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The Metropolitan, Volumen 14

1835 - 598 páginas
...child, And weep away this life of care, Which 1 have berne, and yet must bear. Till death, like tleep, might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air...sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony ! And the second is headed " Mutability," a beautiful little piece. Shelley has been called an atheist:...
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The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats: Complete in One Volume

Samuel Taylor Coleridge - 1838 - 634 páginas
...like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in...when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, loo soon grown old, Insults with this untimely moan ; They might lament — for I am one Whom men love...
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Selections from the British Poets, Volumen 2

1840 - 378 páginas
...like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death, like sleep, might steal on me, And I might feel in...dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that T were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with...
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Selections from the British Poets, Volumen 2

1840 - 368 páginas
...like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death, like sleep, might steal on me, And I might feel in...sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. f 166 CHARLES WOLFE. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my...
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