Anthology · British Culture · Classic · Collection · Compilation · English Literature · Excerpt · Fragment · Ode · Passage · Poetry · Romanticism

John Keats

When by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my ‘mind’s eye’ flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head. — John Keats, from “To Hope” (February,… Continue reading John Keats

Rate this:

Chilean Culture · Chilean Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Ode · Passage · Poetry · Spanish Literature

Pablo Neruda

My hands lifted it up   and I gazed as if the sea   were alive   in that single drop,   as if amid the struggle   of the earth and the waters   one flower were to raise   a small banner   of blue flame, of irresistible peace,   of indomitable purity.… Continue reading Pablo Neruda

Rate this:

Chilean Culture · Chilean Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Ode · Passage · Poetry · Spanish Literature

Pablo Neruda

Love, what does it matter that time, the very time that raised two flames, two waving heads of wheat, my body and your gentleness, tomorrow will hold them safe or mill the grain, and with those same unseen fingers erase the identities that separate us, giving us the final victory of being one beneath the… Continue reading Pablo Neruda

Rate this:

Anthology · Chilean Culture · Chilean Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Ode · Passage · Poetry · Spanish Literature

Pablo Neruda

You change between teeth and desire into nothing but cool light that loosens into a stream that touched us singing. And thus you don’t weigh us down in the burning siesta hour, you don’t weigh us down, you just go by and your great heart like a cold ember changed into the water of a… Continue reading Pablo Neruda

Rate this:

Anthology · Classic · Collection · English Literature · Excerpt · Ode · Passage · Poetry · Romanticism

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear — — Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from “Dejection: An Ode,” (1802). The Complete Poems. (Penguin Classics October 1, 1997) Originally published 1834.

Rate this: