Date: 1806
"On a shelf, / (Yclept a mantle-piece) a phial stands, / Half fill'd with potent spirits!--haunt the poet's restless brain, / And fill his mind with fancies whimsical."
preview | full record— Robinson [Née Darby], Mary [Perdita] (1758-1800)
Date: 1797, 1806
"While shadows, blanks to reason's orb, / In dread succession haunt the brain"
preview | full record— Robinson [Née Darby], Mary [Perdita] (1758-1800)
Date: 1806
"Where is the stamp which marks th' immortal soul, / And places thee above the growling brute?"
preview | full record— Robinson [Née Darby], Mary [Perdita] (1758-1800)
Date: w. 1797-1807, published 1893
"perhaps this is the night / Of Prophecy & Luvah hath burst his way from Enitharmon / When Thought is closd in Caves. Then love shall shew its root in deepest Hell"
preview | full record— Blake, William (1757-1827)
Date: 1811
"The senses are the only inlets of knowledge, and there is an inward sense that had persuaded me of this."
preview | full record— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)
Date: 1817
"The wise Stagyrite speaks of no successive particles propagating motion like billiard balls (as Hobbs;) nor of nervous or animal spirits, where inanimate and irrational solids are thawed down, and distilled, or filtrated by ascension, into living and intelligent fluids, that etch and re-etch eng...
preview | full record— Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834)
Date: 1817, 1818
"But the dark fiend who with his iron pen / Dipped in scorn's fiery poison, makes his fame / Enduring there, would o'er the heads of men / Pass harmless, if they scorned to make their hearts his den."
preview | full record— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)
Date: 1820
"How will thy soul, cloven to its depth with terror, / Gape like a hell within!"
preview | full record— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)
Date: 1820
"Yet am I king over myself, and rule / The torturing and conflicting throngs within, / As Jove rules you when Hell grows mutinous."
preview | full record— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)
Date: 1820
"On a poet's lips I slept / Dreaming like a love-adept / In the sound his breathing kept; / Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, / But feeds on the aƫreal kisses / Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses."
preview | full record— Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)