‘O Golden-tongued Romance, with serene Lute! Fair plumed Syren, Queen of far-away!
Leave melodizing on this wintry day
Shut up thine olden Pages, and be mute.’
‘Adieu! for, once again, the fierce dispute, Betwixt Damnation and impassion’d clay Must I burn through; once more humbly assay The bitter-sweet of this Shaksperean fruit.’
‘Chief Poet! and ye Clouds of Albion, Begetters of our deep eternal theme!’
‘When through the old oak forest I am gone,’
‘Let me not wander in a barren dream:
But, when I am consumed in the fire,
Give me new Phoenix Wings to fly at my desire.’
Form