The 35 best Poems of Romanticism (by great authors)

Poetry is one of the best-known arts since ancient times.. This literary genre is and has always been one of the most direct and profound ways of expressing through words the aspects deepest parts of our being and feeling: our vision of the world, our emotions and feelings, our thoughts, our dreams.

And there have been many authors who have resorted to this art to be able to express themselves, as well as many currents and cultural movements that have emerged.

• Related article: "23 poems by Pablo Neruda that will fascinate you"

Among them, possibly one of the best known is that of Romanticism, which is characterized by its focus on emotion and perception above reason and for seeking the expression of said emotions and feelings beyond any convention or norm literary.

Authors such as Bécquer, Espronceda, Larra, Rosalía de Castro, Lord Byron, Edgar Allan Poe or Keats among many others, who have given us innumerable works to remember. That is why throughout this article We are going to offer you a total of 35 great poems of Romanticism.

A collection of Poems of Romanticism

Next we leave you with a small collection of 35 poems of Romanticism that allow us to see some of the main characteristics of this movement as well as marvel at its beauty.

These are poems by various authors of different origins (in the works made in other languages ​​we will see their translation directly, although part of its beauty is lost) and that deal with themes such as love, beauty, freedom, melancholy, time or the dreams .

1. Rima LIII (Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer)

The dark swallows will return to your balcony their nests to hang, and again with the wing to their crystals playing they will call. But those that the flight restrained your beauty and my happiness to contemplate, those that learned our names... those... they won't come back!

The bushy honeysuckle in your garden will return to climb the walls, and again in the afternoon their flowers will open even more beautiful. But those, curdled with dew whose drops we watched tremble and fall like tears of the day... those... they will not return!

Love will return in your ears the burning words to sound; your heart from the deep sleep of him maybe he will wake up. But mute and absorbed and on your knees as God is worshiped before his altar, as I have loved you...; undeceive yourself, so... They won't want you!"

• One of Bécquer's best-known and most popular rhymes, this poem tells us about the feeling of melancholy and sadness for a lost and broken love, before the memory of everything they shared.

2. Shining Star (John Keats)

Brilliant star, if I were constant like you, not in lonely splendor hanging high in the night and looking, with eternal eyelids open, as if by nature. patient, an insomniac hermit, the moving waters in his religious task, of pure ablution around the land of human shores, or of contemplation of the mountains and we stopped.

No, still constant, still immovable, lying on the mature heart of my beautiful love, to feel forever its soft swell and fall, awake forever in a sweet restlessness. Silent, silent to hear her tender breath, and thus live forever or else fade into death."

• One of the last poems that John Keats wrote before dying of tuberculosis, this work refers to the desire to remain forever together with the loved one, in a melancholy in which he envies the possibility of the stars to remain forever in a moment of peace and love.

3. "There was a time... Do you remember?" (Lord Byron)

“There was a time… remember? The memory of him will live in our chest forever... We both feel a burning affection; the same, oh virgin! that drags me to you

Oh! since the day that for the first time, eternal love my lip has sworn to you, and sorrows have torn my life, sorrows that you cannot suffer; since then the sad thought of your fallacious oblivion in my agony: oblivion of a love all harmony, fugitive in his stiff heart. And yet, heavenly consolation comes to flood my overwhelmed spirit, today that your sweet voice has awakened memories, oh! of a time that has passed.

Although your heart of ice never beats in my shuddering presence, I am pleased to remember that you have never been able to forget our first love. And if you intend with tenacious determination to follow your path indifferently... Obey the voice of your destiny, you can hate me; forget me, no."

• This poem by Lord Byron tells us about how a relationship that has deteriorated over time began as something beautiful and positive, in a story full of melancholy towards what it was and is over.

4. Annabelle Lee (Edgar Allan Poe)

“It was many, many years ago, in a kingdom by the sea, there dwelt a maiden whom you may know by the name of Annabel Lee; and this lady lived with no other desire than to love me, and to be loved by me.

I was a boy, and she was a girl in that kingdom by the sea; We love each other with a passion greater than love, Me and my Annabel Lee; with such tenderness that the winged seraphs cried rancor from on high.

And for this reason, long, long ago, in that kingdom by the sea, a wind blew from a cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee; gloomy ancestors came suddenly, and dragged her far away from me, to lock her up in a dark sepulcher, in that kingdom by the sea.

The angels, half happy in Heaven, envied us, Ella and me. Yes, that was the reason (as men know, in that kingdom by the sea), that the wind blew from the night clouds, chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love was stronger, more intense than that of all our ancestors, greater than that of all the sages. And no angel in his heavenly vault, no demon under the ocean, will ever be able to separate my soul from my beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never shines without bringing me the dream of my beautiful companion. And the stars never rise without evoking her radiant eyes. Even today, when the tide dances at night, I lie next to my darling, my beloved; To my life and my beloved, in her grave by the waves, in her grave by the roaring sea."

• Although the figure of Poe is especially remembered for his horror works, this author also produced some poems, within romanticism. In this case, the author tells us about the death of a woman he loved and whom he continues to love despite the fact that she has been dead for years.

5. When at night (Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer)

"When at night the tulle wings of sleep envelop you and your stretched eyelashes resemble ebony bows, to listen to the heartbeat of your restless heart and recline your sleeping head on my chest, I would give, my soul, all that I possess, the light, the air and the thought!

When your eyes fix on an invisible object and your lips illuminate the reflection with a smile, to read the silence on your forehead thought that passes like the cloud of the sea over the wide mirror, give me, my soul, what I desire, fame, gold, glory, genius!

When your tongue is mute and your breath quickens, and your cheeks light up and you narrow your black eyes, to see between their eyelashes shine with humid fire the ardent spark that sprouts from the volcano of desires, give, my soul, because I hope, the faith, the spirit, the earth, the darling."

• In this work, Bécquer expresses the need to be with the loved one and his desire to be with her.

6. Who does not love does not live (Victor Hugo)

“Whoever you are, listen to me: if with avid glances you have never followed the footsteps in the light of vesperus, the soft and rhythmic walk of a celestial vision; Or perhaps a candid veil, like a splendid meteor, that passes, and suddenly hides in funereal shadows, leaving a trail of purest light in the heart;

If only because the poet revealed it to you in images, you know intimate bliss, the secret happiness, whose arbitrator stands alone from another being in love; Of the one that does not see more night lamps, nor other clear suns, nor does it carry in troubled seas more light from stars or headlights than the one that a woman's eyes shed magic;

If the end of a splendid sarao you never waited outside, muffled, mute, gloomy while in the high glass window pale reflections of the voluptuous intersect to and fro), To see if like a luminous gust at the exit, with a benevolent smile, hope and life return to you young beauty with languid eyes, fringed in flowers the temple. If you, jealous and angry, have not seen a white hand usurped, at a public party, by that of a profane lover, and the breast that you adore, next to another breast, throb; Nor have you devoured the impulses of concentrated anger, rolling seeing the impudent waltz that defoliates, while it turns in a vertiginous circle, flowers and girls alike;

If with the light of the twilight you have not descended the hills, filled feeling the soul of thousand divine emotions, not even along the pleasant poplars the walk was you; If while in the high vault one star and another shines, two sympathetic hearts did not enjoy the penumbra, speaking mystical words, lower your voice, slow your foot; If you never trembled at the magnetic touch of a dream angel; if never a sweet I love you, timidly exhaled, remained ringing in your spirit as a perennial vibration; If you have not looked with pity at the man thirsty for gold, for whom in vain munificent love offers his treasure, and of royal and purple scepter you had no compassion;

If in the middle of the night she is gloomy when everything sleeps and is silent, and she enjoys a peaceful dream, with yourself in battle you did not break out in tears with a childish spite; If crazy or sleepwalking you have not called her a thousand times, perhaps frantically mixing blasphemies with the prayers, also to death, miserable, invoking a thousand times; If you haven't felt a beneficent look that descends into your bosom, like a sudden lampo that the shadows cleave and see makes us a beatific region of serene light; Or perhaps the icy frown suffering from the one you adore, you did not faint lifeless, mysteries of love you ignore; neither have you tasted her ecstasy, nor have you carried her cross."

• This poem by Victor Hugo speaks to us of the human need to love and to live love in all its extension, both in its parts positive and negative, both successes and failures, whether it fills us with happiness or if we risk being hurt. damage.

7. Black shadow (Rosalía de Castro)

“When I think that you are running away, black shadow that amazes me, at the foot of my heads, you turn around making fun of me. If I imagine that you are gone, in the same sun you appear, and you are the star that shines, and you are the wind that blows.

If they sing, you are the one who sings, if they cry, you are the one who cries, and you are the murmur of the river and you are the night and the dawn. In everything you are and you are everything, for me in myself you dwell, you will never abandon me, shadow that always amazes me.

• Despite the fact that she is part of the generation of '27, the work of Rosalía de Castro is considered part of Romanticism, specifically of Romanticism. known as post-romantic (Bécquer and de Castro were at a historical moment in which Romanticism was beginning to be left behind in pursuit of Realism). In this short poem, she tells us about the emotion of surprise and the bewilderment that her own shadow generates in her.

8. I found her! (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

“It was in a forest: absorbed, he thought, he walked without even knowing what he was looking for. I saw a flower in the shade. shining and beautiful, like two blue eyes, like a white star.

I'm going to pluck it, and sweetly saying I find it: «To see me wither you break my stem?» I dug around and took it with the vine and everything, and I put it in my house in the same way. There I planted it again, still and alone, and it flourishes and is not afraid of seeing itself withered."

• This short poem by Goethe tells us about the need to take into account the totality of what surrounds us. and what is part of people, instead of looking only at their aesthetic or physical attractiveness.

9. Rhyme XIII (Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer)

“Your pupil is blue and when you laugh, its soft clarity reminds me of the tremulous glow of the morning that is reflected in the sea.

Your pupil is blue and when you cry the transparent tears in it appear to me as drops of dew on a violet.

Your pupil is blue and if an idea radiates from its background, like a point of light, it seems to me like a lost star in the evening sky.”

• Beautiful composition that narrates something as intimate as a look into the eyes of the loved one and the beauty and love that awakens in those who look at them.

10. Ode to the Nightingale (John Keats)

"My heart aches and my senses are drowsy torpid, as if I had drunk hemlock or swallowed some strong narcotic just now, and sink into Lethe: not because I am envious of your happy fate, but by excessive luck in your luck, you who, winged Dryad of the trees, in some melodious tangle of green beech trees and countless shadows, at full voice you sing to the summer.

Oh! Who would give me a sip of wine, long refreshed in the deep earth, knowing Flora and the green fields, Provencal dance and song and sunny joy! Who would give me a glass of the warm South, full of rosy and true hypocras, with bubbles boiling on its edge and my mouth dyed purple; drink and, unseen, leave the world and lose myself with you in the shadows of the forest!

In the distance lose myself, dissipate, forget what between branches you never knew:

fatigue, fever and anger from which, one to another, men, in their moaning, listen to each other, and the trembling shakes the last sad gray hairs; where youth, skinny and pale, dies; where, just by thinking, we are filled with sadness and those despairs with leaden eyelids; where her clear eyes do not keep their beauty without, the next day, a new love clouding them.

Lose myself far, far away! For I will fly with you, not in Bacchus' chariot and his leopards,

but on the invisible wings of Poetry, although the obtuse mind hesitates and stops. With you already! Tender is the night and perhaps on her throne is the Queen Moon and, around her, that swarm of stars, of her Fairies; but here there are no more lights than those that the sky exhales with its breezes, through shadowy branches and winding, mossy paths.

Between shadows I listen; and if I almost fell in love with peaceful Death so many times and gave it sweet names in pensive verses, so that my calm breath could be carried away through the air; More than ever dying seems nice, extinguishing without pain, at midnight, while you pour out your whole soul in that rapture.

You would still sing, but I would no longer hear you: for your funeral song it would be earth and grass. But you were not born for death, oh, immortal bird! There will be no hungry people to humiliate you; the voice that I hear this fleeting night was heard by the emperor, long ago, and by the rustic; perhaps the same song reached the sad heart of Ruth, when she, feeling homesick for her land, for the strange crops she stopped, weeping; the same one that often enchants the magical windows, open on the foam of hazardous seas, in lands of fairies and oblivion. Of oblivion! That word, like a bell, bends and takes me away from you, towards my solitudes.

Bye bye! Fantasy doesn't hallucinate as well as fame says, elf of deceit.Bye, bye! Aching, your hymn is already extinguished beyond those meadows, over the quiet stream, over the mountain, and then it is buried between avenues of the neighboring valley. Was it vision or dream? That music is gone. I'm awake? I am asleep?"

• A poem by Keats that speaks to us of the eternal and the expired, of longing and the perception of beauty, the desire to remain forever contemplating the marvelousness of the universe and the melancholia.

11. I once had a nail (Rosalía de Castro)

“Once I had a nail driven into my heart, and I no longer remember if it was that nail of gold, iron, or love.

I only know that he did me such a deep evil, that he tormented me so much, that I cried day and night without ceasing as Magdalene cried in the Passion. "Lord, that you can do everything - ask God once -, give me courage to pull out a nail from such a condition." And God gave me, tear it off.

But... who would think... Afterwards I no longer felt torments nor did I know what pain was; I only knew that I don't know what I was missing where the nail was missing, and maybe... maybe I was lonely from that pain... Good God! This deadly mud that surrounds the spirit, who will understand it, Lord..."

• The author narrates in this text the suffering that a long-suffering or problematic love generates in us, and could even serve for an unrequited one, and the emptiness and longing that leaving it behind can leave despite the pain that provoked.

12. When two souls finally meet (Victor Hugo)

“When two souls finally meet, who for so long have searched for each other among the crowd, when they realize that they are couples, that they understand each other and correspond, in a word, that they are alike, then a union vehement and pure as themselves arises forever, a union that begins on earth and lasts on. heaven.

That union is love, authentic love, as in truth very few men can conceive, love that is a religion, that deifies to the loved one whose life emanates from fervor and passion and for whom the sacrifices, the greater the joys, the more sweets."

• This little poem reflects the encounter with the loved one, a romantic love that arises from the understanding and the union and correspondence of the feelings of one with the other.

13. Remember me (Lord Byron)

“My solitary soul cries in silence, except when my heart is united to yours in a heavenly alliance of mutual sighing and mutual love. It is the flame of my soul like dawn, shining in the sepulchral enclosure: almost extinct, invisible, but eternal... not even death can sully it.

Remember me... Do not pass near my grave, 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 is not a crime pray for those who were. I never asked you for anything: when you expire I demand that you shed your tears on my grave.

• This short poem by Lord Byron reflects the desire to be remembered after death, to remain in the hearts of those who loved us.

14. A dream (William Blake)

“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, bewildered and desperate, dark, ringed in darkness, exhausted, she stumbled through the spreading tangle, all disconsolate, and I heard her say: “Oh, my children! do they cry? Will they hear their father sigh? Are they out there looking for me? Do they come back and weep for me?Pityed, I shed a tear; but nearby I saw a firefly, which answered: “What human moan summons the guardian of the night? It behooves me to light the grove while the beetle makes its rounds: follow now the beetle's buzz; Little wanderer, she's coming home soon."

• William Blake is one of the first authors and promoters of romanticism, and one of those who promoted the search for the use of imagination and emotion over reason. In this poem we observe how the author narrates a strange dream in which someone lost must find his way.

15. Pirate song (José de Espronceda)

“With ten guns per band, aft wind at full sail, it does not cut the sea, but flies a brigantine sailboat; pirate ship that they call, due to its bravery, the Feared, in every known sea from one end to the other.

The moon in the sea shimmers, on the canvas the wind moans and raises in soft movement waves of silver and blue; and the pirate captain goes, singing happily in the stern, Asia on one side, Europe on the other, and there in front of him Istanbul; "Navigate my sailboat, without fear, that neither enemy ship, nor storm, nor bonanza, your course to twist reaches, nor to hold your courage.

We have made twenty prisoners in spite of the English, and they have surrendered their banners, a hundred nations at my feet. That my ship is my treasure, that freedom is my god, my law, the force and the wind, my only homeland the sea.

There move fierce war blind kings for one more span of land, that I have here for mine as far as the wild sea covers, to whom no one imposed laws. And there is not any beach, nor flag of splendor, that does not feel my right and breast my value. That my ship is my treasure, that freedom is my god, my law, the force and the wind, my only homeland the sea.

At the voice of ship comes! it is to see how he turns and prevents himself at full speed to escape: that I am the king of the sea, and my fury is to be feared. In prey I divide the catch equally: I only want unrivaled beauty for wealth. That my ship is my treasure, that freedom is my god, my law, the force and the wind, my only homeland the sea.

I am sentenced to death!; I laugh; do not abandon me luck, and the same that condemns me, I will hang from some entena perhaps in his own ship. And if I fall, what is life? I already gave it up for lost, when I shook off the yoke of a slave like a brave man. That my ship is my treasure, that freedom is my god, my law, the force and the wind, my only homeland the sea.

My best music is aquilones, the noise and trembling of the shaken cables, the roaring of the black sea and the roar of my cannons. And from the thunder to the violent sound, and from the wind to the raging, I fall asleep peacefully lulled by the sea. That my ship is my treasure, that freedom is my god, my law, force and the wind, my only homeland is the sea”.

• José de Espronceda is one of the greatest representatives of early Spanish Romanticism, and this poem highly known reflects the desire for freedom, to explore and to be able to determine one's own destination.

16. Know Thyself (Georg Philipp Friedrich von Hardenberg)

“Man has only sought one thing at all times, and he has done it everywhere, at the tops and bottoms of the world. Under different names –in vain– he always hid, and always, even believing her close to him, he got out of hand. A long time ago there was a man who in kind childhood myths revealed to his children the keys and the path to a hidden castle.

Few managed to know the simple key to the enigma, but those few then became masters of destiny. He went on for a long time – the error sharpened our ingenuity – and the myth stopped hiding the truth from us. Happy who has become wise and has left his obsession with the world, who longs for the stone of eternal wisdom for himself.

The reasonable man then becomes an authentic disciple, he transforms everything into life and gold, he no longer needs elixirs. The sacred alembic bubbles within him, the king is in it, and also Delphi, and in the end he understands what it means to know yourself.

• This poem by Georg Philipp Friedrich von Hardenberg, better known by his pseudonym Novalis, tells us about the need for human beings to know themselves in order to be truly free.

17. To Solitude (John Keats)

"Oh, loneliness! If I must live with you, let it not be in the messy suffering of shady and gloomy dwellings, let us climb the steep staircase together; nature observatory, contemplating its delicacy of the valley, its flowery slopes, its flowing crystalline river; let me watch sleepily under the green-branched roof, where the deer stream past, stirring the bees in their bells.

But, though with pleasure I imagine these sweet scenes with you, the soft conversation of a mind, whose words are innocent images, is the pleasure of my soul; and without a doubt it must be the greatest joy of humanity, to dream that your race can suffer for two spirits that together decide to flee.”

• This poem reflects the positive part of solitude as a moment of contemplation but at the same time the need for human company as something eternally desirable.

18. Why, butterfly? (Mariano Jose de Larra)

Why, little butterfly, flying from leaf to leaf, already boasting of being fickle and crazy? Why, I told myself, don't you imitate the industrious bee that constantly enjoys the juice of the flowers? He warns that he does not wander from the wallflower to the rose, that one among thousands seeks and a fragrant one alone. And when he already chooses her until he squeezes all of her, she never fickle passes without enjoying her to another.

Don't you also see that her breast takes? so that never libada leaves the cup of love. If in your strange changes the sun that colors you dazzles our eyes with thousand colorful inks; Why, slight bird, do you refuse to fly, only a flower and a chalice cover with pride and glory? For the flapping of your wings, for the white pomas, and in the turgid bosom of the one that the chest adores. There a sweet little flower, beautiful fragrance, steals from my Fili's bosom with ambition.

Fly, little butterfly, that if once so alone in its nuances still from the delights you enjoy it. No longer inconstant you must want to return to the forest treacherous to flutter among others. Fly, little bird, fly, collect their aromas, and return to me later and give me what you catch."

• This poem by Mariano José de Larra narrates the comparison between the behavior of the butterfly and the bee, where the first explores without delving into the flowers while the second stays with a alone. It is a clear reference to the behavior of human beings in relationships and sexuality.

19. Fresh, lush, pure and fragrant (José de Espronceda)

“Fresh, lush, pure and fragrant, gala and adornment of the flowery pensil, gallant placed on the upright bouquet, fragrance spreads the rising rose. But if the burning sun annoying light vibrates from the flaming canyon lit, the sweet aroma and the lost color, its leaves carry the hasty aura.

This is how my vein shone for a moment on wings of love, and perhaps a beautiful cloud I pretended to be of glory and joy. but alas! that good turned into bitterness, and leafless by the air rises the sweet flower of my hope.

• Short poem by José de Espronceda in which he tells us about how hope can arise at great speed only to be cut short shortly after, especially in what refers to the field of love.

20. To the Night Star (William Blake)

“You blonde angel of the night, now, while the sun rests on the mountains, light your bright love-brand! Put on the radiant crown and smile upon our nightbed!

Smile at our loves and, while you draw the blue curtains of the sky, plant your silver dew on all the flowers that close their sweet eyes to opportune sleep. May your western wind sleep in the lake. Say the silence with the brilliance of your eyes and wash the dust with silver.

Quick, very quick, you retire; and then he barks, enraged, everywhere the wolf and the lion fire from their eyes in the dark jungle. The wool of our flocks is covered with your sacred dew; protect them with your favor"

• A poem by William Blake in which the author tells us how he asks the moon to shine and protect the calm, peace and love that take place during the night.

21. The broom (Giacomo Leopardi)

“Here, on the arid slope of the formidable mountain, desolate Vesuvius, to whom neither tree nor flower cheers your solitary grass around you spread fragrant broom content in the deserts. Before I saw you decorate with your bushes the countryside that surrounds the town that was mistress of the world at one time, and of the lost empire they seem with their serious and sad appearance to offer faith and memory to the passenger. I see you again today on this ground, lover of deserted places of sadness, of afflicted fortune, always a friend.

These fields strewn with infertile ash and covered with inveterate lava that echoes under the pilgrim's passage, in which he nests and basking in the sun the snake coils up, and where the rabbit returns to its dark burrow, cities and harvests were cultured and joyful. blonde; They were echoed by the lowing of flocks, palaces and gardens where the leisure of the rich is a pleasant refuge, and famous cities that the haughty mountain with its people oppressed, striking down igneous torrents from its mouth.

Everything today around a ruin surrounds where you, beautiful flower, find your seat, and which sympathizing with another's harm you send to heaven a perfumed aroma that comforts the desert. He who praises our state comes to these beaches, he will see how nature takes care of itself in our love life. The power in the right measure of him will be able to estimate the human family, to which without mercy, in a moment, his nurse, With a slight movement, when you least expect it, it partly cancels and with a little more you can completely undo it. See the progressive and sovereign luck of the human people painted on this beach.

Look at yourself in this mirror, superb and crazy century, that the path marked by old thought you abandoned, and your steps returning, your return seeks. Your useless chatter the wits all, of whose luck the father made you queen, flatter, meanwhile that perhaps in their chest they make fun of you. With such a baldness I will not go down to earth, and it would be very easy for me to imitate them and on purpose, derailing, being pleasing to you singing in your ear! But before the contempt, that I keep in my chest for you, I will show as clearly as possible; although I know that oblivion falls on those who rebuke him at his own age. From this evil that I participate with you, I laugh until now. Dreaming of freedom, you want to be a slave to thought, the only one that takes us out of barbarism in part; and for whom one only grows in culture; he only guides the public business to the best. The truth disgusts you, from the low place and rough luck that nature gave you. That is why, cowardly, you turn your back on the fire that shows it to us and, fugitive, you call whoever follows it vile and so only magnanimous to the one who with his own ridicule, or that of others or already crazy or cunning, exalts the mortal to the moon degree.

The poor man and his body sick from him who has a generous and great soul,

He neither believes himself nor calls himself rich in gold or gallant, nor does he make a laughable display among people of splendid life and excellent health; more wealth and beggar vigor. without shame appears; that's what he calls himself when he speaks frankly and esteems his things fairly. I never thought a magnanimous animal, but rather a fool who came to our world to die, and between sorrows raised, he still exclaims: "I am for enjoyment! made!" and full pages of fetid pride, great glory and new happiness that the people themselves ignore, not the world, in the world promising peoples that a wave of the troubled sea, a breath of evil aura, an underground push, in such a way destroys, that memory of they just left.

Noble character that dares to raise before the common fate mortal eyes, and with a frank tongue without diminishing the truth, confesses the evil that was given to us by lot; low and sad state! the one that arrogant and strong is shown in suffering, and neither hatred nor anger of brothers the most serious of the damages, she adds to her miseries, blaming the man for his pain, but instead blaming that truly guilty one, of mortal mothers in childbirth, in wanting stepmother. He calls her her enemy, and realizing that he has been united to her and ordered with her in the beginning the human company of her, men all believe confederates among themselves, embraces them with true love, offers them and expects from them courageous help in the anguish and alternate danger of war common. And to the offenses of the man to arm the right hand, to put a snare and stumble to the neighbor, so clumsy judges what it would be in a field that the enemy besieges, in the ruder thrust of the assault, forgetting the contrary, bitter fight undertake the friends sow the flight and strike down the sword among themselves the Warriors.

When such doctrines become patent to the vulgar again, and that pristine horror that tied men in a social chain wisdom renews it again, the simple and honest trade of the people, piety, justice, a different root they will have then, and not vain fables on which the honesty of the vulgar is based, which is sustained by those who remedy their error nods. Often on the deserted beach, which the hardened flow dresses in mourning lava, I spend the night looking over the sad moorland in the clear blue From the pure sky the stars will blaze from above, which the ocean reflects in the distance, and with sparks shine all around from the serene vault of the world.

When I fix my gaze on those lights that seem to us like a point, when they are so immense that the earth and the sea are a point next to them, and to which not only man, but also the globe itself, where man is nothing, is completely unknown, and when I see without end, even more remote the tissues of stars that mist appear to us, and not man, not and the earth, but all in one the infinite number of suns, our golden sun, while stars are all unaware, or appear like them to the earth, light nebula; before my mind then how do you show off, offspring of man? And remembering your earthly state, that this ground that I walk on shows, and on the other hand that you end and lady believe in everything, and that so many Sometimes you like to fantasize in this dark grain of sand that we call Earth that the authors of all things came down to talk with the yours for your sake, and ridiculous and old dreams renewing insults the wise up to the present age that in knowledge and culture excel seems; deadly offspring, wretched offspring! What feeling then assails my heart for you? I don't know if laughter or pity shelter.

Like an apple that falls from the tree when in the late autumn maturity only knocks it down, the sweet chambers of an anthill dug in the ground with great labor, the works, the riches that the assiduous troop had collected with great fatigue providly, in the summer weather, bruises, breaks and covers; collapsing like this from the top of the tenacious womb, thrown into the deep sky, of ashes, pumice and rocks, night and ruin, full of boiling streams; or already by the skirt, furious among the grass, of liquidated masses and of burning sand and metals descending immense blow, the cities that the sea there in the extreme coast bathed, sum broken and covered to the moment; where today the goat grazes on them, or new towns arise there, which of footstool having the sepulchres; and the prostrate walls at the foot of him trample the hard mountain. He does not esteem nature or take care of man more than he does the ant, and if in the rarer one the havoc is that in this only this is based on the fact that it is not such a fertile species.

Eighteen hundred years ago those towns disappeared oppressed by the igneous power, and the peasant attentive to the vineyard that in these same fields nourishes the dead terroir of Ash still raises his suspicious gaze to the summit that inflexible and fatal, today as always, still stands tremendous, still threatens his estate and her children with ruin, the poor! How many times the unfortunate man lying on the roof of his poor hovel all night, sleepless, to the wandering aura or sometimes jumping, explores e! course of the dreaded hotbed that spills from the inexhaustible sine to the sandy hill, which illuminates the marina from Capri, the port from Naples and Mergelina. If he sees that he is hurrying, if at the bottom of the domestic well he hears the water bubbling, his little children, his wife wake up, and instantly with all he can from what is his fleeing from afar contemplate his nest and the land that hunger was their only shelter prey to the fiery wave that crackling comes over him and over him forever deploy!

Extinct Pompeii returns to the celestial ray after long oblivion, like a buried corpse that pity or greed returns to light from the earth, and through the rows of truncated columns the pilgrim from the barren forum far beholds the twin peaks and the smoking crest that still threatens the scattered ruin. And in the horror of the secret night for the deformed temples, for the empty circuses, for the houses where the bat hides its hatchlings, like a face sinister that stirs in deserted palaces, the brilliance of the smoky lava flows, reddening the shadows in the distance and staining the places of the outline. Thus, ignorant of man and of the centuries that he calls ancient, of the entire series of grandparents and grandchildren, nature, always green, marches along such a long road that it seems immobile to us. Time empires in his dream drowns, peoples and languages ​​pass; she does not see it and meanwhile the man assumes eternity.

And you, slow broom, who adorns these desolate fields with fragrant forests, you too are quick to the cruel power you will succumb to the underground fire that to the known place returning on your tenders you kill its greedy edge will extend. Surrendered to the mortal weight, you will then bow your innocent head. But in vain until you bend it with cowardice pleading in front of the future oppressor; nor do you raise it to the stars with absurd pride in the desert, where birth and home, not by wanting, luckily you have reached. You are wiser and healthier than man, inasmuch as you have never thought that immortal your stems have been made by you or by fate.

• This poem is one of the best known by Giacomo Leopardi, and tells us about the strength and resistance of the broom, flower of the desert or ginestra, one of the few flowers that grows on the edge of Vesuvius. The author offers us a pessimistic discourse regarding abandonment, death, the passage of time and the extinction of everything that surrounds us.

22. Philosophy of Love (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

“The sources mix with the river, and the rivers with the ocean; the winds of heaven mix forever, with a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is unique, all things by divine law complete each other: why shouldn't I do it with you?

Look, the mountains kiss the high sky, and the waves caress themselves on the coast; No flower would be beautiful if it disdains its brothers: and the light of the sun loves the earth, and the reflections of the moon kiss the seas: what is all this love worth, if you do not kiss me?

• This composition is the work of the famous poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, husband of Mary Shelley (the author of "Frankenstein's Monster"). It expresses the idea of ​​romantic love and finding a person who complements us.

23. Ode to Immortality (William Wordsworth)

“Though the splendor that once was so bright today is forever hidden from my eyes. Although my eyes can no longer see that pure flash that dazzled me in my youth. Although nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flowers, we should not grieve because beauty always subsists in the memory... In that first sympathy that having been once, will be forever in the consoling thoughts that sprang from human suffering, and in the faith that looks through the death.

Thanks to the human heart, by which we live, thanks to its tenderness, its joys and its fears, the flower more humble in blooming, it can inspire me with ideas that often prove too deep for tears."

• Time passes for everything and everyone, but memories can remain in our memory making what we once lived immortal.

24. The Prisoner (Aleksandr Pushkin)

“I am behind bars in a damp cell. Raised in captivity, a young eagle, my sad company, flapping its wings, next to the window its pike meal. He pikes it, throws it, looks at the window, as if he thought the same thing as me.

His eyes call me and his cry, and he wants to utter: Let's take flight! You and I are free as the wind, sister! Let's flee, it's time, where the mountain whitens between clouds and the sea shines blue, where we walk only the wind. ..me too!"

• This poem is part of the work of Aleksandr Pushkin, one of the best-known Russian romantic poets, and in it we see how the author speaks to us about the desire and need for freedom in a context of imprisonment and deprivation.

25. Despair (Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

“I have experienced the worst, the worst that the world can forge, that which indifferent life concocts, disturbing in a whisper the prayer of the dying. I have contemplated the totality, tearing in my heart the interest for life, to be dissolved and removed from my hopes, nothing remains now. Why live then?

That hostage, that the world holds captive, granting the promise that I still live, that hope of a woman, the pure faith in her unmoving love, that celebrated her truce in me. With the tyranny of love, they are gone. Where? What can I answer? They left! I should break the infamous pact, this blood bond that binds me to myself! I have to do it quietly."

• A poem that speaks to us of the emotion of despair, in a torn way, at the loss of their hopes and dreams.

26. Come walk with me (Emily Brönte)

“Come, walk with me, only you have blessed an immortal soul. We used to love the winter night, wandering through the snow without witnesses. Will we go back to those old pleasures? The dark clouds rush in, shadowing the mountains as they had done many years ago, until they die on the wild horizon in gigantic piled blocks; as the moonlight rushes in like a furtive, nocturnal smile.

Come, walk with me; not long ago we existed but Death has stolen our company -As the dawn steals the dew-. One by one he took the drops into the vacuum until only two remained; but my feelings still flash because in you they remain fixed. Don't claim my presence, can human love be so true? Can the flower of friendship die first and revive after many years?

No, though with tears they are bathed, the mounds cover her stem, the life sap has vanished and the green will no longer return. Safer than the final horror, inevitable as the subterranean rooms where the dead and their reasons live. Time, relentless, separates all hearts."

• This poem was written by Emily Brönte, under a male pseudonym, at a time when women had serious difficulties in seeing her name published. Like her sisters, she was one of the British representatives of romanticism, although she is still not very well known today. The poem shows the desire for the company of the loved one, as well as the effect of the passage of time.

27. When Soft Voices Die (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

“When the soft voices die, their music still vibrates in memory; when the sweet violets are sick, their fragrance lingers on the senses. The leaves of the rose bush, when the rose dies, are piled up for the lover's bed; And so in your thoughts, when you're gone, love itself will sleep.

• This short poem tells us about how things that die leave behind beautiful things, like the memory and affection that we once felt for relationships that are lost.

28. Rhyme IV (Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer)

* “Do not say that, having exhausted his treasure, of lacking affairs, the lyre fell silent; there may be no poets; but there will always be poetry. While the waves of light to the kiss throb ignited, while the sun the torn clouds of fire and gold sight, as long as the air in her lap carries perfumes and harmonies, as long as there is spring in the world, there will be poetry!

While the science to discover does not reach the sources of life, and in the sea or in the sky there is an abyss that to the calculation resist, while humanity, always advancing, does not know where it is going, while there is a mystery for man, there will be poetry!

As long as she sits, her soul laughs, without her lips laughing; as long as she cries, without the crying coming to cloud her pupil; while the heart and the head battle continue, while there are hopes and memories, there will be poetry!

As long as there are eyes that reflect the eyes that look at them, as long as the lip responds by sighing to the lip that sighs, as long as two confused souls can feel each other in a kiss, as long as there is a beautiful woman, there will be poetry!"

• This well-known work by Bécquer tells us about what poetry, mystery and the search for beauty, sensations, emotions and feelings, the perception of beauty and the eternity.

29. Soul that you are running away from yourself (Rosalía de Castro)

“Soul that you are running away from yourself, what are you looking for, foolish, in others? If the source of consolation dried up in you, dry all the sources you will find. That there are still stars in the sky, and that there are perfumed flowers on earth! Yeah... But they are no longer those that you loved and loved you, wretch."

• Brief work by Rosalía de Castro that tells us about seeking our own strength and comfort in ourselves, without depending on what is sought abroad, despite the fact that we face difficult situations.

30. Immortal Reminiscence (Friedrich Schiller)

“Tell me, friend, the cause of this ardent, pure, immortal longing that is in me: suspend myself at your lip eternally, and sink into your being, and receive the pleasant atmosphere of your immaculate soul. In time that passed, different time, was not our existence of a single being? Did the focus of an extinct planet give a nest to our love in its enclosure in days that we saw fleeing forever?

Do you also like me? Yes, you have felt in your chest the sweetest heartbeat with which passion announces its fire: let us both love each other, and soon we will fly happily to that sky in which we will once again be like God.

• This poem by Schiller tells us about the desire to join the loved one in a passionate copulation.

31. When figures and figures... (Georg Philipp Friedrich von Hardenberg)

"When figures and figures cease to be the keys of every creature, when those who sing or kiss know more than the deepest sages, when Freedom returns to the world again, the world returns to being a world again, when at last the lights and shadows merge and together become clarity perfect, when in verses and in stories are the true stories of the world, then a single secret word will banish the discords of the Earth whole”

• In this poem Novalis expresses the need to stop focusing on numbers, logic and reason to live freely following and expressing our emotions and our true nature.

32. The Chariot of Life (Aleksandr Pushkin)

“Although sometimes the load is heavy, the car moves lightly; the intrepid coachman, the gray-haired time, does not get off the box. We settled in the wagon in the morning, happy to break our heads, and, scorning pleasure and laziness, we shouted: Forward! At noon the courage has already vanished; upset by fatigue and terrified by the slopes and ravines, we shout: Slow down, crazy! The car continues its march; In the afternoon, at their accustomed run, sleepy, we look for an inn for the night, while time urges on the horses.”

• This poem by the Russian author confronts us with the fact that our life passes at great speed, as well as the fact that our perspectives and ways of dealing with it can change throughout the cycle vital.

33. Dreamland (William Blake)

"Wake up, wake up, my little one! You were the only joy of your mother; Why do you cry in your peaceful sleep? Wake up! Your father protects you. 'Oh, what land is the Land of Dreams? What are its mountains, and what its rivers?

O father! There I saw my mother, among the lilies by the beautiful waters. ‘Among the lambs, clad in white, she walked she with hers Thomas hers in sweet delight. I cried for joy, like a dove I lament; Oh! When will I go back there?

Dear son, I too have walked the whole night along pleasant rivers in the Land of Dreams; but still and warm as the wide waters were, I could not reach the other shore. 'Father, oh father! What are we doing here in this land of disbelief and fear? Dreamland is much better, far away, above the light of the morning star.

• A sad and somewhat tragic poem that tells us about the need to dream, to travel to a world of dreams where memories and desires remain current and possible.

34. The Farewell (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

Let me tell you goodbye with my eyes, since my lips refuse to say it! Parting is a serious thing even for a temperate man like me! Sad in the trance it makes us, even of love the sweetest and most tender test; The kiss of your mouth seems cold to me, your hand slack, that mine narrows.

The slightest caress, once furtive and flighty, enchanted me! It was something like the precocious violet, which started in the gardens in March. I will no longer cut fragrant roses to crown your forehead with them. Frances, it's spring, but autumn for me, unfortunately, it will always be "

• Goethe makes reference in this poem to how hard it is to say goodbye to someone we love and that we have lost, has left or is leaving.

35. Your eyes (Jorge Isaacs)

“Your whims are my law and Hell your rigors, dreamy black eyes dearer than my eyes. Eyes that promise me, when you look at me defeated, what is never fulfilled, are you not afraid of losing my love? I dreamed that I would find you and I found you to lose you, eyes that severely deny what my soul implores.

Under his long eyelashes I surprised your light in vain, Beautiful summer nights of my native mountains! Eyes that promise me, when you look at me defeated, what is never fulfilled, are you not afraid of losing my love?

• This poem by Jorge Isaacs tells us about the importance of the look when transmitting emotions such as love, and the difficulties that can arise to express them beyond them.