Tumgik
#romantic period poetry
faerieicetea · 11 months
Text
its midnight and i'm reading this book and the main characters finally realised they love each other!!! and i'm trying so hard not to scream too loudly
76 notes · View notes
mehreenkhan · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
-Emma, Jane Austen
106 notes · View notes
burningvelvet · 1 year
Text
the hilarious adventures of byron and his poor publisher
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
sources: image 1) BLJ VII “Between Two Worlds” by Leslie Marchand; image 2/3) Byron’s Correspondence with John Murray, 1811-1816 Edited by Peter Cochran
132 notes · View notes
nickysfacts · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media
This has to be one of the most unique and complex poems to have every been written!
❤️📜❤️
8 notes · View notes
empirearchives · 7 months
Text
St. Helena by Mikhail Lermontov (1831)
Tumblr media
Lermontov was a Russian writer who wrote the novel A Hero of Our Time and the poem Borodino. He is, along with Pushkin, considered to be the most important Russian writer of the Romantic period.
———
Let us honor with our greeting the solitary isle, where often, buried in thought, Napoleon stood on the bank and dreamed of distant France! Son of the sea, midst the seas shall be thy grave!
That is the vengeance for the tortures of such days—The sinful land did not deserve that the great life should end within it.
Gloomy exile, sacrifice of treachery and of the blind whim of fate, he died, as he lived—without ancestors or descendants, conquered, but a hero! He was born by the accidental play of fate, and he passed by us as a storm. He was alien to the world; all in him was mysterious; the day of his rise and the hour of his fall.
———
Source: Napoleon and Lermontov, Clarence A. Manning, Romanic Review; New York Vol. 17, (Jan 1, 1926): 32.
15 notes · View notes
katriniac · 4 months
Text
Merry Christmas 💝
This post is about one of my favorite Christmas carols and poems, written by the amazing Christina Rossetti -
In The Bleak Midwinter
Here is a version sung by Julie Andrews recorded in 1973:
youtube
Tumblr media
The full poem:
(In the public domain)
In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.
Our God, heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain,
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty —
Jesus Christ.
Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom Angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.
Angels and Archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air;
But only His Mother
In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.
What can I give Him,
Poor as I am? —
If I were a Shepherd
I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man
I would do my part, —
Yet what I can I give Him, —
Give my heart.
Oof. That last line, regardless of the musician who sings it, always makes my throat catch. 💓🥹
The poem was originallly published under the title "A Christmas Carol" in January 1872 in a magazine, but wasn't printed in book-form until 1875 along with Rossetti's best-known poem, Goblin Market.
In 1906, the composer Gustav Holst composed a setting of Rossetti's words (titled "Cranham") in The English Hymnal, which is the most commonly sung version of the song.
I admire her poetry a great deal. The Romantic period gave us many remarkable female authors and poets (my favorite being Jane Austen), however Rossetti was right at the tail-end of that era. The years her works were published straddle the dreamy idealistic Romantic period and the grainy gritty Realism movement. Her styles and themes follow this growth of artistic feeling as she continued to write.
Christina Rossetti (5 December 1830 – 29 December 1894) was born in London to Italian parents, was home-schooled by her mother, and grew up among artists, writers, and poets. I can't help but imagine that living among creative family of political exiles, often hosting a bohemian assortment of traveling artists from across Europe, would be anything but boring.
The amount of genius under that one roof!
Anyways, happy holidays to all, even though this current midwinter is anything but bleak and we have no snow.
Yesterday, we hit the record for the warmest Christmas Eve in Minnesota: 55 degrees. Not a single flake on the ground. But there's been plenty of rain! So weird.
7 notes · View notes
newvegascowboy · 9 months
Text
The more I think about it, the more I become convinced Red would actually like romantic period pieces and would iust never admit it on pain of death
15 notes · View notes
liquidgirl13 · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
7 notes · View notes
Text
Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Music, when soft voices die"
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory— Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
20 notes · View notes
localshoethief · 1 year
Text
AM I REALLY THAT FUCKING
UNLOVABLE?
47 notes · View notes
shelleyss · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Percy Bysshe Shelley through the years.
37 notes · View notes
im-the-anti-hero · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
"Crawl inside this body, find me where I am most ruined - love me there."
Tumblr media
- Rune Lazuli
66 notes · View notes
hermeticmelancholy · 5 months
Text
Percy Bysshe Shelley "The flower that smiles to-day"
The flower that smiles to-day       To-morrow dies; All that we wish to stay,       Tempts and then flies. What is this world's delight? Lightning that mocks the night,     Brief even as bright.
Virtue, how frail it is!       Friendship how rare! Love, how it sells poor bliss       For proud despair! But we, though soon they fall, Survive their joy and all     Which ours we call.
Whilst skies are blue and bright,       Whilst flowers are gay, Whilst eyes that change ere night       Make glad the day, Whilst yet the calm hours creep, Dream thou – and from thy sleep     Then wake to weep.
6 notes · View notes
burningvelvet · 1 year
Text
From Conversations of Lord Byron with the Countess of Blessington (1834; taken from her earlier collected diaries) — Byron talking about Percy and Mary Shelley:
“On looking out from the balcony this morning with Byron, I observed his countenance change, and an expression of deep sadness steal over it. After a few minutes' silence he pointed out to me a boat anchored to the right, as the one in which his friend Shelley went down, and he said the sight of it made him ill.—‘You should have known Shelley,’ said Byron, ‘to feel how much I must regret him. He was the most gentle, most amiable, and least worldly-minded person I ever met; full of delicacy, disinterested beyond all other men, and possessing a degree of genius, joined to a simplicity, as rare as it is admirable. He had formed to himself a beau idéal of all that is fine, high-minded, and noble, and he acted up to this ideal even to the very letter. He had a most brilliant imagination, but a total want of worldly-wisdom. I have seen nothing like him, and never shall again, I am certain. I never can forget the night that his poor wife rushed into my room at Pisa, with a face pale as marble, and terror impressed on her brow, demanding, with all the tragic impetuosity of grief and alarm, where was her husband! Vain were all our efforts to calm her; a desperate sort of courage seemed to give her energy to confront the horrible truth that awaited her; it was the courage of despair. I have seen nothing in tragedy on the stage so powerful, or so affecting, as her appearance, and it often presents itself to my memory. I knew nothing then of the catastrophe, but the vividness of her terror communicated itself to me, and I feared the worst, which fears were, alas! too soon fearfully realized. Mrs. Shelley is very clever, indeed it would be difficult for her not to be so; the daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft and Godwin, and the wife of Shelley, could be no common person.”
From The Life and Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Vol. 2 — Mary describing the night she learned that Percy was lost at sea and went to Byron’s place — interestingly, she mentions details that Byron later recounted to Lady Blessington, giving credence to Blessington’s recollections, despite Blessington’s many other fabrications (including slander against Mary due to her own personal biases):
“Both Lord Byron and the lady have told me since, that on that terrific evening I looked more like a ghost than a woman—light seemed to emanate from my features; my face was very white; I looked like marble. Alas!”
60 notes · View notes
byronicist · 2 years
Text
“Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, / To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, / Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, / Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, / And so live ever—or else swoon to death.”
John Keats, “Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art” (1838)
13 notes · View notes
florareadsworld · 1 year
Text
I rose at the dead of night And went to the lattice alone To look for my Mother's ghost Where the ghostly moonlight shone. My friends had failed one by one, Middle aged, young and old, Till the ghosts were warmer to me Than my friends that had grown cold.
Christina Rossetti, A Chilly Night.
Tumblr media
5 notes · View notes