| 1820 - 596 pages
...eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy w,ine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time, I have been...my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth tby soul abroad In such... | |
| 1820 - 606 pages
...eldest child, The coming musk-iosc, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of aies on summer eves. Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time, I have been...my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such... | |
| Vicesimus Knox - 1825 - 404 pages
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| William Hone - 1826 - 876 pages
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| John Keats - 1926 - 738 pages
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| John Keats - 1926 - 730 pages
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| Leigh Hunt - 1828 - 500 pages
...eldest child, The coming musk-rose full of dewy^wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen ; and for many a time I have been...my quiet breath. Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such... | |
| Leigh Hunt - 1828 - 512 pages
...eldest child, The coming musk-rose full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen ; and for many a time I have been...my quiet breath. Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such... | |
| William Hone - 1830 - 868 pages
...eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 6. Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time I have been...my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such... | |
| William Hone - 1837 - 936 pages
...eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 6. Darkling I listen ; and, for many a time I have been...my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such... | |
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