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" Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek... "
New Monthly Magazine, and Universal Register - Page 314
edited by - 1824
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The Edinburgh Magazine and Literary Miscellany, Volume 94

1824 - 798 pages
...winds and waters are ; I could He down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might...warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day...
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Spirit of the English Magazines

1824 - 984 pages
...like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear. Till deatb like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in...warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day...
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The New Monthly Magazine and Literary Journal, Volume 31

1831
...and waters are ; I could lie down' like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death, like sleep,...warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Alas ! the coming event had indeed cast its shadow before. The...
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Posthumous Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley

Percy Bysshe Shelley - 1824 - 440 pages
...winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might...warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day...
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Knight's Quarterly Magazine, Volume 3

1824 - 486 pages
...; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the load of care Which I have borne and still must bear, Till death, like sleep, might steal on...warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er rny dying brain its last monotony. Sonic might lament when I were cold, As I when this sweet day...
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The Edinburgh Magazine and Literary Miscellany, Volume 94

1824 - 818 pages
...winds and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My check grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament...
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The New Annual Register, Or General Repository of History, Politics, and ...

1825 - 828 pages
...a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death-like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm...air . My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. " Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet...
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Miscellaneous Poems

Percy Bysshe Shelley - 1826 - 156 pages
...and waters are ; t could lie down like a tired child, An.i weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might...air My cheek, grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day...
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The Poetical Album: And Register of Modern Fugitive Poetry, Volume 1

Alaric Alexander Watts - 1828 - 498 pages
...waters are ; • I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away this life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death, like sleep, might...warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day...
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The Poetical Album: And Register of Modern Fugitive Poetry

Alaric Alexander Watts - 1828 - 422 pages
...and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away this life of care, Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death, like sleep, might...warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day...
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