38 BEAUTIFUL POEMS OF ROMANTICISM (BY GREAT AUTHORS) - LITERATURE - 2025

The poems of Romanticism are compositions that use literary resources typical of poetry, framed in the cultural movement called Romanticism. Some of its most recognized representatives are William Blake, Walt Whitman, Víctor Hugo, Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer or Edgar Allan Poe.

Romanticism emerged in Germany and England in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, and quickly spread throughout the European continent, the United States, and the rest of the world.

Lord Byron, author of Romanticism.

Its main characteristic in all artistic expressions was to oppose Neoclassicism, the current that preceded it.

Therefore, the poems of this period also followed these premises, where feelings prevail over reason, the possibility of freely expressing oneself beyond pre-established rules, originality and creativity as opposed to imitation and tradition. It is therefore a clearly subjective current.

You may also be interested in these poems from the Baroque or these from Modernism.

List of poems by famous authors of Romanticism

Poetry was not the most cultivated literary genre in Romanticism, as new forms emerged such as the historical novel, the adventure novel and romance. However, the poets of this period, of course, wrote their verses fulfilling the philosophical convictions of the time: the knowledge of the Self and the search for beauty beyond reason.

Here are some texts from the most famous authors of this period.

1- A Dream

Once a dream wove a shadow

over my bed that an angel protected: it

was an ant that had gotten lost

in the grass where I thought it was.

Confused, perplexed and desperate,

dark, surrounded by darkness, exhausted, I

stumbled through the sprawling tangle,

all heartbroken, and I heard him say:

“Oh my children! Do they cry?

Will they hear their father sigh?

Are they hanging around looking for me?

Are they coming back and sobbing for me?

Compassionate, I shed a tear;

but nearby I saw a firefly,

who replied: «What human groan

summons the guardian of the night?

It is up to me to illuminate the grove

while the beetle makes its rounds:

now the hum of the beetle follows;

little tramp, come home soon.

Author: William Blake (England)

2- Walk Beautiful Like the Night

She walks beautiful, like the night

Of clear climates and starry skies,

And all the best of darkness and light

Shines in her appearance and in her eyes,

Enriched thus by that tender light

That the sky denies to the vulgar day.

A shadow too many, a ray of less,

They would have diminished the ineffable grace

That stirs in each braid of his black shine,

Or softly illuminates his face,

Where sweet thoughts express

How pure, how adorable is his abode.

And on that cheek, and on that forehead,

They are so soft, so calm, and at the same time eloquent,

The smiles that win, the shades that illuminate

And they speak of days lived with happiness.

A mind at peace with everything,

A heart with innocent love!

Author: Lord Byron (England)

3- know yourself

Man has only sought one thing at all times,

and he has done it everywhere, on the heights and in the depths

of the world.

Under different names - in vain - she always hid herself,

and always, even though she was close, she got out of hand.

Long ago there was a man who in kind

childish myths

revealed to his children the keys and the path of a

hidden castle.

Few managed to know the simple key to the enigma,

but those few then became masters

of destiny.

A long time passed - error sharpened our wit -

and the myth no longer hid the truth from us.

Happy who has become wise and has left his obsession

with the world, who by himself longs for the stone of

eternal wisdom.

The reasonable man then becomes an

authentic disciple,

he transforms everything into life and gold, he no longer needs

elixirs.

The holy alembic is bubbling within him, there is the king in it,

and so is Delphi, and at the end he understands what it means to

know yourself.

Author: Georg Philipp Freiherr von Hardenberg - NOVALIS (Germany)

4- Fullness

Since I applied my lips to your still full glass,

and put my pale forehead between your hands;

since once I could breathe the sweet breath

of your soul, perfume hidden in the shadow.

Since it was granted to me to hear from you

the words in which the mysterious heart is poured out;

since I have seen you cry, since I have seen you smile,

your mouth on my mouth, your eyes in my eyes.

Since I have seen

a ray of your star shine over my illusioned head, oh, always veiled.

Since I have seen fall in the waves of my life

a rose petal torn from your days,

I can now say to the swift years:

Come in! Keep going! I will not get older!

All gone with all our withered flowers,

I have in my album a flower that no one can cut.

Your wings, when touching it, will not be able to spill

the glass in which I now drink and that I have very full.

My soul has more fire than you ashes.

My heart has more love than you I forget.

Author: Victor Hugo (France)

5- do not stop

Do not let the day end without having grown a little,

without having been happy, without having increased your dreams.

Don't be overcome by discouragement.

Do not let anyone take away your right to express yourself,

which is almost a duty.

Do not give up the urge to make your life something extraordinary.

Don't stop believing that words and poetry

can change the world.

No matter what our essence is intact.

We are beings full of passion.

Life is desert and oasis.

It knocks us down, hurts

us, teaches

us, makes us protagonists

of our own history.

Although the wind blows against,

the powerful work continues:

You can contribute with one stanza.

Never stop dreaming,

because in dreams man is free.

Do not fall into the worst mistake:

silence.

The majority lives in a scary silence.

Do not resign yourself.

Flees.

"I emit my screams from the roofs of this world,"

says the poet.

Appreciates the beauty of simple things.

You can make beautiful poetry about little things,

but we can't row against ourselves.

That transforms life into hell.

Enjoy the panic of

having life ahead of you.

Live it intensely,

without mediocrity.

Think that in you is the future

and face the task with pride and without fear.

Learn from those who can teach you.

The experiences of those who preceded us

from our "dead poets"

help you to walk through life

Today's society is us:

The "living poets".

Don't let life pass you by without you living it.

Author: Walt Whitman (United States)

6- Eternal Love

The sun may cloud forever;

The sea can dry up in an instant;

The axis of the earth may be broken

Like a weak glass.

Everything will happen! May death

Cover me with its funereal crepe;

But the

flame of your love can never go out in me.

Author: Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer (Spain)

7- remember me

My lonely soul cries in silence, except when my heart is

united to yours in celestial alliance

of mutual sighing and mutual love.

It is the flame of my soul like aurora, shining in the grave enclosure:

almost extinct, invisible, but eternal…

nor can death stain it.

Remember me!… Close to my grave

do not pass, no, without giving me your prayer;

for my soul there will be no greater torture

than knowing that you have forgotten my pain.

Hear my last voice. It's not a crime

pray for those who were. I never

I asked you for nothing: when I expire I demand of you

that on my grave you shed your tears.

Author: Lord Byron

8- the dark swallows will return

The dark swallows will return

their nests to hang on your balcony, and again with the wing to its crystals

playing they will call.

But those that the flight held back

your beauty and my happiness to contemplate, those who learned our names….

those… will not return!

The bushy honeysuckle will return

from your garden the walls to climb, and again in the evening even more beautiful

its flowers will open.

But those curds of dew

whose drops we watched tremble

and fall like tears of the day…

those… will not return!

They will return from the love in your ears

the burning words to sound,

your heart from its deep sleep

maybe it will wake up.

But mute and absorbed and on my knees

as God is worshiped before his altar, as I have loved you…, deceive yourself, like this… they won't love you!

Author: Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

9- A dream within a dream

Take this kiss on your forehead!

And, I say goodbye to you now

There is nothing left to confess.

Whoever estimates is not mistaken

That my days have been a dream;

Even if hope has flown

In a night, or in a day, In a vision or no vision

Is therefore the game less?

Everything we see or imagine

It's just a dream within a dream

I stand between the roar

From a shore racked by waves, And I hold in my hand

Grains of the golden sand.

How few! However as they crawl

Between my fingers into the deep, While I cry, While I cry!

Oh God! Can't I hold them

With more force?

Oh God! I can't save

One of the relentless tide?

Is it all we see or imagine

A dream within a dream?

Author: Edgar Allan Poe

10- The Fairy

Come, my sparrows, arrows of mine.

If a tear or a smile

they seduce man;

if a loving delay

covers the sunny day;

if the blow of a step

touches the heart from the roots, here is the wedding ring,

transform any fairy into a king.

Thus sang a fairy.

From the branches I jumped

And she eluded me

trying to run away.

But trapped in my hat

it won't take long to learn

who can laugh, who can cry, because it's my butterfly:

I have removed the poison

of the wedding ring.

Author: William Blake

11- The suicide argument

About the beginning of my life, whether I wanted it or not, no one ever asked me - otherwise it couldn't be -

If life was the question, a thing sent to try

And if living is saying YES, what can NO be but dying?

Nature's response:

Is it returned the same as when it was sent? Isn't wear worse?

Think first of what YOU ARE! Be aware of what you ARE!

I have given you innocence, I have given you hope, I have given you health, and genius, and a wide future, Will you return guilty, lethargic, desperate?

Take inventory, examine, compare.

Then die - if you dare to die.

Author: Samuel Taylor Coleridge

12- Restless love

Through the rain, through the snow, Through the tempest I go!

Among the sparkling caves, On the misty waves I go,

Always forward, always!

Peace, rest, have flown.

Quick through the sadness

I wish to be slaughtered

That all the simplicity

Sustained in life

Be the addiction of a longing,

Where the heart feels for the heart, Seeming that they both burn

Seeming that they both feel.

How am I going to fly?

In vain were all the confrontations!

Bright crown of life, Turbulent bliss, Love, you are this!

Author: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

13- Don Juan in hell

When Don Juan descended into the underground wave

And his mite had given to Charon, A gloomy beggar, his gaze fierce like Antisthenes,

With a vengeful and strong arm he took hold of each oar.

Showing her flabby breasts and her open clothes,

The women writhed under the black sky, And, like a great flock of sacrificial victims, They followed him with a long bellow.

Sganarelle laughing demands his pay, While Don Luis, with a trembling finger

It showed all the dead, wandering on the banks, The bold son who mocked his snowy forehead.

Shuddering under her mourning, the chaste and lean Elvira, Close to the perfidious husband and who was her lover, It seemed to claim a supreme smile

In which the sweetness of his first oath would shine.

Standing tall in his armor, a stone giant

He stayed on the bar and cut the black wave;

But the serene hero, leaning on his greatsword, He contemplated the stele and without deigning to see anything.

Author: Charles Baudelaire

14- Song of Death (fragment)

Weak mortal don't scare you

my darkness nor my name;

man finds in my bosom

a term to his regret.

I compassionately offer you

far from the world an asylum, where in my quiet shadow

forever sleep in peace.

Island I am from rest

in the middle of the sea of ​​life, and the sailor there forgets

the storm that passed;

there they invite you to sleep

pure waters without murmur, there he sleeps to the lullaby

of a breeze without rumor (…)

Author: José de Espronceda

15- The day was peaceful

That February he was shivering in his sapwood

from frost and snow; the rain lashed

with its gusts the angle of the black roofs;

you said: my God! When will I be able

find the violets I want in the woods?

Our sky is weeping, in the lands of France

the season is cold like it's still winter, and sits by the fire; Paris lives in mud

when in such beautiful months Florence already shelled

its treasures adorned by a grass glaze.

Look, the blackish tree outlines its skeleton;

your warm soul was deceived with its sweet warmth;

There are no violets except in your blue eyes

and there is no more spring than your burning face.

Author: Théophile Gautier

17- AL AARAAF (Fragment part 1)

Oh nothing earthly, only the diffused ray

by the look of beauty and returned by flowers, as in those gardens where the day

arises from the gems of Circasia.

Oh nothing earthly, just the emotion

melodic that springs from the stream in the forest

(music of the passionate), or the joy of the voice exhaled so gentle, that like the murmur in the conch

its echo endures and will endure…

Oh, none of our scum!

but the whole beauty, the flowers that border

our love and that our gazebos adorn, are shown in your world so far, so distant, Oh wandering star!

For Nesace everything was sweet because there it lay

its sphere reclined in the golden air, Near four bright suns: a temporary rest, an oasis in the desert of the blessed.

In the distance, between oceans of rays that restore

the empyrean splendor to the unchained spirit, to a soul that hardly (the waves are so dense)

he can fight his predestined greatness.

Far, far away Nesace traveled, sometimes to distant spheres, she, God's favored, and recent traveler to ours.

But now, of a sovereign anchored world, strips off the scepter, abandons the supreme command

and between incense and sublime spiritual hymns,

bathes her angelic wings in the quadruple light.

Author: Edgar Allan Poe

18- The bedroom of Eden

Lilith was Adam's wife

(the Bedroom of Eden is in bloom)

not a drop of blood in his veins was human, but she was like a soft, sweet woman.

Lilith was in the confines of Paradise;

(and Oh, the bedroom of the hour!)

She was the first from there driven, with her was hell and with Eve heaven.

Lilith said to the serpent's ear:

(the Bedroom of Eden is in bloom)

I come to you when the rest has happened;

I was a snake when you were my lover.

I was the most beautiful serpent in Eden;

(And, oh, the bedroom and the time!)

By the will of the Earth, a new face and form, they made me the wife of the new earthly creature.

Take me as I come from Adam:

(the Bedroom of Eden is in bloom)

Once again my love will subdue you, the past is past, and I come to you.

Oh, but Adam was Lilith's vassal!

(And, oh, the bedroom of the hour!)

All the strands of my hair are golden,

and in that network his heart was caught.

Oh, and Lilith was the queen of Adam!

(the Bedroom of Eden is in bloom)

Day and night always united, my breath shook his soul like a feather.

How many joys did Adam and Lilith have!

(And, oh, the bedroom of the hour!)

Sweet intimate rings of the snake's embrace, when lying two hearts that sigh and yearn.

What resplendent children Adam and Lilith had;

(the Bedroom of Eden is in bloom)

Forms that curled in the woods and the waters, shining sons and radiant daughters.

Author: Dante Gabriel Rossetti

19- Lament at dawn

Oh you cruel, deadly beautiful maiden, Tell me what a great sin I have committed

So that you have tied me, hidden, Tell me why you have broken the solemn promise.

It was yesterday, yes, yesterday, when tenderly

You touched my hand, and with a sweet accent you affirmed:

Yeah I'll come, I'll come when morning approaches

Shrouded in mist to your room I will arrive.

In the twilight I waited by the keyless door

I carefully checked all the hinges

And I rejoiced to see that they weren't moaning.

What a night of expectant longing!

For I looked, and every sound was hope;

If by chance I dozed for a few moments, My heart always stayed awake

To tear me out of restless torpor.

Yes, I blessed the night and the cloak of darkness

That so sweetly covered things;

I enjoyed the universal silence

As I listened in the gloom

Since even the slightest rumor seemed like a sign to me.

If she has these thoughts, my thoughts, If she has these feelings, my feelings, Will not wait for the arrival of the morning

And it will surely come to me.

A little cat jumped on the ground,

Catching a mouse in a corner, Was that the only sound in the room

I have never wanted so much to hear a few steps, I have never longed to hear his footsteps so much.

And there I remained, and will always remain, The glow of dawn was coming, And here and there the first movements were heard.

Is it there at the door? On the threshold of my door?

Lying on the bed I leaned on my elbow, Staring at the door, dimly lit, In case the silence opened.

The curtains rose and fell

In the quiet serenity of the room.

And the gray day shone, and it will always shine, In the next room a door was heard, As if someone was going out to earn a living, I heard the loud trembling of the footsteps

When the city gates were opened, I heard the commotion in the market, on every corner;

Burning with life, screaming and confusion.

In the house the sounds came and went, Up and down the stairs

The doors squeaked

They opened and closed, And as if it were something normal, that we all live, No tears came to my torn hope.

Finally the sun, that hated splendor, It fell on my walls, on my windows, Covering everything, rushing in the garden.

There was no relief for my breath, seething with longings, With the cool morning breeze

And, could it be, I'm still there, waiting for you:

But I can't find you under the trees

Not in my gloomy tomb in the forest.

Author: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

20- Night

I want to express my anguish in verses that abolished

they will tell my youth of roses and dreams, and the bitter defloration of my life

for a vast pain and little cares.

And the journey to a vague East by seen ships, and the grain of prayers that bloomed in blasphemies, and the bewilderment of the swan among the puddles, and the false night blue of inquisitive bohemia.

Far harpsichord that in silence and oblivion

you never gave sleep the sublime sonata, orphan skiff, famous tree, dark nest

that softened the night of silver sweetness…

Hope smelling of fresh herbs, trill

of the spring and morning nightingale, lily cut off by a fatal fate, search for happiness, persecution of evil…

The fatal amphora of divine poison

that inner torture must do for life;

the hideous conscience of our human slime

and the horror of feeling fleeting, the horror

of groping, in intermittent fright,

towards the inevitable unknown, and the

brutal nightmare of this crying sleep

From which there is only Her who will awaken us!

Author: Rubén Darío

21- A patient and silent spider

A patient and silent spider, I saw on the little promontory where

she was alone, I saw how to explore the vast

surrounding empty space, threw, one after another, filaments, filaments, filaments of itself.

And you, my soul, wherever you are, surrounded, secluded, in immeasurable oceans of space, meditating, venturing, throwing yourself, looking for whether to cease the spheres

to connect them, until the bridge you need is built, until the ductile anchor is grasped, until the web that you emit

pledge somewhere, oh my soul.

Author: Walt Whitman

22- The fallen woman

Never insult the fallen woman!

No one knows what weight weighed her down, nor how many struggles he endured in life, Until at last it fell!

Who has not seen breathless women

eagerly cling to virtue, and resist the harsh wind from vice

with a serene attitude?

Drop of water hanging from a branch

that the wind shakes and makes you shudder;

Pearl that the chalice of the flower sheds, and that is mud when falling!

But still the pilgrim drop can

its lost purity to regain,

and rise from the dust, crystalline, and before the light shine.

Let fallen woman love, leave their vital heat to the dust, because everything recovers new life

with light and love.

Author: Victor Hugo

23- Poem

Celestial life dressed in blue, serene desire for a pale appearance, that traces in colored sands

the elusive features of his name.

Under the tall, steady arches, lit only by lamps,

lies, the spirit already fled, the most sacred world.

In silence a leaf announces us

lost the best days, and we see the mighty eyes open

from ancient legend.

Approach in silence to the solemn door, listen to the blow it produces when it opens, come down after the choir and contemplate there

where is the marble that announces omens.

Fleeting life and luminous forms

they fill the wide and empty night.

Endless time has passed

that he's lost himself just joking around.

Love brought the full glasses, as among flowers the spirit spills, and diners drink without stopping, until the sacred tapestry is torn.

In strange ranks they arrive

speedy carriages of colors, and carried in his by various insects

alone came the princess of flowers.

Veil like clouds descended

from his luminous forehead to his feet.

We fell to our knees to greet her,

we burst into tears, and it was gone.

Author: Novalis (pseudonym of Georg Philipp Friedrich von Hardenberg)

24- The shadow of this linden, my prison

They have already gone and here I must stay, in the shade of the lime tree that is my prison.

Affections and beauties I have lost

that will be intense memories when

age blinds my eyes. In the meantime

my friends, may I never find

again through the fields and hills, they walk happily, maybe they arrive

to that wooded valley, narrow and deep

that I told you about and that only reaches

the noon sun; or to that log

that arches between rocks like a bridge

and protect the ash tree without branches and dark

whose few yellow leaves

it does not stir the storm but it airs

the waterfall. And there they will contemplate

my friends the green of herbs

gangly -fantastic place! -

that buckle and cry under the edge

of that purple clay.

Already appear

under the open sky and again come

the wavy and magnificent expanse

of fields and hills, and the sea

perhaps with a ship whose sails

brighten the blue between two islands

of purplish gloom. And they walk

happy all, but maybe more

my blessed Charles! for many years

you have longed for nature, recluse in the city, bearing

with a sad and patient soul the pain, evil and calamity (…)

Author: Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

25- Reversibility

Angel full of joy, do you know what anguish is, The guilt, the shame, the boredom, the sobs

And the vague terrors of those horrible nights

That the heart is pressed like crushed paper?

Angel full of joy, do you know what anguish is?

Angel of goodness full, do you know what hate is,

The tears of gall and clenched fists, When his infernal voice raises vengeance

Come captain stands on our powers?

Angel of goodness filled: do you know what hate is?

Angel of health full, do you know what Fever is, That along the wall of the milky hospital, Like the exiles, he walks with weary feet, In pursuit of the scarce sun and moving your lips?

Angel of health full, do you know what Fever is?

Angel of beauty full, do you know about wrinkles?

And the fear of getting old, and that hateful torment

To read the secret horror of sacrifice

In eyes where one day ours watered?

Angel of beauty full, do you know about wrinkles?

Angel full of happiness, light and joy!

David dying healing would ask

To the emanations of your sorcerer body;

But I do not implore you, angel, but prayers, Angel full of happiness, light and joy!

Author: Charles Baudelaire

26- To a nightingale (fragment)

Sing in the night, sing in the morning

nightingale, in the forest your loves;

sing, who will cry when you cry

the dawn pearls in the early flower.

Dyed the sky of amaranth and scarlet, the evening breeze among the flowers

will also sigh at the rigors

of your sad love and your vain hope.

And in the serene night, in pure lightning

of the quiet moon, your songs

the echoes will sound from the shady forest.

And pouring sweet swoon, which balm leaves in my sorrows,

Your accent will sweeten my lip.

Author: José de Espronceda.

27- When you come to love

When you come to love, if you have not loved, You will know that in this world

It's the biggest and deepest pain

Be both happy and miserable.

Corollary: love is an abyss

Of light and shadow, poetry and prose, And where the most expensive thing is done

Which is to laugh and cry at the same time.

The worst, the most terrible,

It is that living without him is impossible.

Author: Rubén Darío

28- From death to love

Like arduous hands, weak clouds flee

From the winds that sweep the winter from the high hills, Like endless and multiform spheres

That flood the night in a sudden tide;

Terrors of fiery tongues, of inarticulate sea.

Even then, in some bleak crystal of our breath, Our hearts evoke the wild image of Death,

Shadows and abysses that border eternity.

However, alongside the impending Shadow of Death

A Power rises, stirring in the bird or flowing in the stream, Sweet to glide, lovely to fly.

Tell me my love. What angel, whose Lord is Love, Waving your hand at the door

Or on the threshold where the trembling wings lie, Does it have the flaming essence that you have?

Author: Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

29- The art (fragment)

Yes, the work done is more beautiful

with more rebellious forms, like verse, or onyx or marble or enamel.

Let's flee from false restraints!

But remember, oh Musa, to wear shoes, a narrow coturn that squeezes you.

Always avoid any comfortable rhythm

like a shoe too big

in which every foot can get.

And you, sculptor, reject the softness

From the mud that the thumb can shape, while inspiration floats away;

you better measure yourself with carrara

or with the stop * hard and demanding, that guard the purest contours…

Author: Theophile Gautier.

30- The laughter of the beauty

Bella is the flower that in the auras

with soft swing it rocks;

beautiful the iris that appears

after the storm:

beautiful in a stormy night, a lonely star;

but more than everything is beautiful

the laughter of the beauty.

Despising the dangers

the enthusiastic warrior, Trade for hard steel

the sweet tranquility:

Who does your heart ignite

when do you launch into the fight?

Who encourages your hope?…

Author: Fernando Calderón

31- With the boiling snort

With the boiling snort

the hoarse bull wets the toasted sand,

the view of the rider bound and serene,

wide space searching for the red shaft.

His bold outburst to receive is thrown away,

his dark face pale with courage,

and

the picador, who is angered by time, swells his robust vein in his forehead.

The beast doubts, the Spaniard calls it;

The bull shakes the horned forehead,

the earth digs, blows and scatters;

The man forces him, starts suddenly,

and wounded in the neck, flees him and bellows,

and in a universal cry the people break.

Author: José Zorrilla.

32- The partition of the land

-Take the land! From his high seat he

said to the men who filled the void.

-To fulfill my sovereign intent,

speak it in a fraternal compartment,

which I give you as an inheritance and lordship.

Already more running, to go first,

each mortal to the call came,

and everything he could submit to his jurisdiction:

the fruits of the earth, the peasant;

the jungle, where the knight will hunt.

The merchant and the ark fill the troj;

The monk takes possession of the shady vineyard:

and, already strong, feeling the monarch

paths and bridges with barriers marks

saying; -Tithing! because the tithe is mine.

Years later, when

the irrevocable partition was finally complete,

the poet arrived from a remote border.

Oh! Every field was demarcated,

and everything to its lord subject.

"Late and in vain I demand my potion!"

And so, the most faithful in miserable abandonment

leaving, oh God! disinherited the son?

Tal of the lord prostrating himself before the throne,

the poor vate between sobs said.

-If absorbed in the region of chimeras,

-God answers- you were delayed, deluded,

not in vain cry or accuse me you want:

where were you, what are you waiting for confusing me?

-Where? By your side! -the dreamer replied.

My sight grazed on your beauty;

from heaven in accents, my ears;

If I disdained it on the ground, it

was because your glory, which unparalleled shines,

overwhelmed my mind and senses!

And God: -What to do? On earth

I have nothing left with which to fill your longing;

foreign to the forest, the nearby inheritance…

Come with me, if it pleases you, to heaven,

that from today I will give you free entry!

Author: Friedrich Schiller.

33- London

I wander endlessly through the censored streets, by the bank of the census Thames, and in every face that looks at me I warn

signs of impotence, of misfortune.

In every human cry

in every childish cry of fear,

in every voice, in every prohibition, I hear the chains forged by the mind:

and I hear how the chimney sweep cry

makes the dark churches pale, and the pain of the unfortunate soldier

bloody the palace walls.

But at last in the midnight streets I hear

how the curse of the young harlot

dries up the cry of the newborn, and lay waste to the hearse of the bride and groom.

Author: William Blake.

34- Ozymandias

I met a traveler from an ancient land

who said: «two huge stony legs, without their trunk

they stand in the desert. Next to her, in the sand,.

half sunk, lies a face in pieces, whose frown

and grimace in the mouth, and contempt of cold dominion

they say that their sculptor understood those passions well

which still survive, engraved on these inert objects, to the hands that carved them and the heart that fed them.

And on the pedestal these words are read:

«My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Behold my works, mighty ones, and despair! "

Nothing is left by his side. Around decay

of these colossal ruins, infinite and bare

the lonely and flat sands stretch out in the distance.

Author: Percy Bysshe Shelley.

35- Daffodils

I was wandering lonely like a cloud

that floats high over valleys and hills,

when suddenly I saw a crowd,

a host of golden daffodils;

by the lake, under the trees,

shivering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous like the stars that shine

and blink in the Milky Way,

they stretched like an infinite row

along that cove;

I gazed at ten thousand daffodils,

their heads moving in lively dance.

The waves also danced by his side,

but they were happier than the golden tides:

A poet could only be cheerful

in such jovial company;

I looked and looked, but did not yet know

how much wealth I had found in the vision.

For often, when I rest in my bed,

with idle or thoughtful humor, they

return with a sudden shine on that

inner eye that is the happiness of the lonely;

and my soul is then filled with delight,

and dances with the daffodils.

Author: William Wordsworth.

36- The lake

Thus, always pushed towards new shores, To the eternal night dragged without return, Can we never over the ocean of years Drop anchor for a single day? Oh lake! The year has barely finished its run And close to dear waters that she should see again Look! I come just to sit on this stone Where you saw her sit! Hogs like this under these deep rocks; Thus you broke on its broken flanks; Thus the wind threw the foam of your waves On her adored feet. One night, do you remember? We rode in silence; We did not hear in the distance, over the water and under the sky, More than the noise of the rowers that beat Your harmonic flows in rhythm. Suddenly, accents unknown to the land Of the enchanted shore struck the echoes; The flow was attentive, and the beloved voice Shed these words: «Oh, time! suspend your flight,and you, auspicious hours, suspend your course! Let us savor the fleeting delights Of our most beautiful days! «There are many wretches who implore you down here, Run, run for them; Take with their days the troubles that devour them; Forget about those who are happy. «But in vain I ask for a few more moments, Time escapes me and flees; I say to tonight: go slower; and the dawn already dissipates the night. «Let's love, yes, let's love! Let us sate ourselves on the runaway hour, enjoy it! Man has no port; time has no shore; He runs and we pass! " Jealous time, do these moments of intoxication, In which love in wide jets pours happiness on us, Fly away from us with the same haste As days of misery? More than! Couldn't we at least fix his footprint? Than! Gone forever what!Completely lost? That time that gave them to us, that time that erases them, He will no longer give them back! Eternity, nothing, past, gloomy abysses, What do you do with the days you swallow? Speak: can you give us back these sublime ecstasies that you take from us? Oh lake! Dumb rocks! Grottoes! Dark forest! You, whom time forgives or whom it can rejuvenate. Save this night, save, beautiful nature, At least the memory! May it remain in your backwaters, may it remain in your storms, Beautiful lake, and in the aspect of your smiling shores, And in those black fir trees, and in those wild rocks That hang over your waters. May they remain in the zephyr that shudders and passes, In the noises of your shores by your shores repeated, In the star of the silver forehead that whitens your surface With its soft clarities.That the wind that moans, the reed that sighs, That the light aromas of the air that you perfume, That everything that is heard, seen or breathed, That everything say: They have loved!

Author: Alphonse de Lamartine.

37- To Autumn

Season of mist and sweet abundance, great friend of the sun that matures everything,

you who with it plan how to give load and joy

of fruit to the vine, under the straw eaves;

how to bend the mossy trees of the huts,

weighing apples, and season the fruits.

and to fill the pumpkin and fill

the hazelnuts with a sweet grain: how to open more and more

late flowers for the bees, and as long as they

believe since the warm days never end

because the summer filled their sticky cells.

Who, among your abundance, has not seen you often?

Sometimes, whoever looks outside may find you

sitting in a barn, on the ground, carelessly,

your hair gently lifted by the

somewhat lively breeze; or asleep, in a furrow that was half

mowed, on the breath of poppies,

while your sickle respects nearby wheat and

linked flowers. And sometimes, like a gleaner, its

heavy head stands upright, a stream you

cross; or next to a cider press, patiently

candles the last flow, hours and hours.

Where are the spring songs? Ah! Where?

Don't think about them anymore, because you already have your music,

when striated clouds bloom the soft

dying of the day and stain the stubble pink;

then the mourning chorus of mosquitoes

among the river's willows wails, rising

or falling, according to the blowing of the breeze;

and roar the grown lambs on the mountains;

the cricket sings in the hedge; and already, with a soft trill,

in the fenced garden, the robin hisses

and swallows join, chirping, in the sky.

Author: John Keats.

38- Kubla Khan

In Xanadu, Kubla Khan

he had a splendid pleasure palace built:

where the Alpha, the sacred river, ran

through caverns immeasurable for man, towards a sea without sun.

Twice five miles of fertile soil

they were surrounded by walls and towers:

there were gardens that sparkled with winding streams, and where many incense trees bloomed, there were forests, as old as hills

that enveloped green and sunny meadows.

But, oh, that deep and romantic chasm that skewed

the green hill through a blanket of cedar!

A wild place! So holy and enchanted

like anyone where, under the waning moon, it appeared

a woman, lamenting for her beloved demon!

And from this chasm, which boiled in incessant roar, as if breathing the earth with deep and agitated wheezes

in a moment a mighty spring gushed forth:

in the middle of whose sudden intermittent explosion

huge chunks flew up, like bouncing hail

or like the grain separating from the chaff under the thresher's flail:

and amidst the dancing rocks, suddenly and forever, the sacred river arose in a moment.

Meandering for five miles, with labyrinthine course

the sacred river flowed, through forests and valleys, then reached the caverns immeasurable for man, and sank tumultuously into a lifeless ocean:

And in the midst of that tumult, Kubla heard in the distance, ancient voices that prophesied war!

The shadow of the pleasure palace

floated in the middle of the waves, where you could hear the mixed cadence

of the spring and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare invention, a sunny recreation palace with ice caves!

A girl with a dulcimer

I saw, once, in a vision:

she was an abyssinian maiden

and, playing his dulcimer, He sang about Mount Abora.

If I could revive inside of me

its harmony and its song, it would fill me with such deep delight, that, with loud and prolonged music, I'd build that palace in the air

That sunny palace, those ice caves!

And all who listened would see them appear, and everyone would exclaim: Watch out, watch out!

Her eyes sparkle, her hair floats!

Weave a circle around it three times, and close your eyes with holy fear, for he has fed on honey dew, and has drunk the milk of Paradise…

Author: Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Other poems of interest

Avant-garde poems.

Poems of the Renaissance.

Poems of Futurism.

Poems of Classicism.

Poems of Neoclassicism.

Poems of the Baroque.

Poems of Modernism.

Poems of Dadaism.

Cubist Poems.

References

1. Romanticism and romantic poets. Recovered from es.wikipedia.org
2. Lord Byron's poem. Recovered from zonaliteratura.com
3. Novalis poem. Recovered from ojosdepapel.com
4. Poem by William Blake. Recovered from amediavoz.com
5. Poem by Victor Hugo. Recovered from poesiaspoemas.com
6. Poem by Walt Whitman. Recovered from literaturbia.com
7. Poem by Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer. Recovered from poemas-del-alma.com.
8. López, Luís (s / f). From death to love. Recovered from: ciudadseva.com
9. Poem by Edgar Allan Poe Recovered from: edgarallanpoepoesiacompleta.com
10. Poems (s / f). Victor Hugo. Recovered from: poemas.yavendras.com
11. Sanahuja, Dolores (2012). Late Novalis Poems. Recovered from: ojosdepapel.com
12. Literary Zone (2012). Three poems by Theophile Gautier. Recovered from: zonaliteratura.com.