Who is Mark Akenside

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Mark Akenside Poems

  • Whoe'er Thou Art Whose Pat In Summer Lies
    Whoe'er thou art whose path in summer lies
    Through yonder village, turn thee where the grove
    Of branching oaks a rural palace old
    Imbosoms. there dwells Albert, generous lord ...
  • Ambition And Content
    While yet the world was young, and men were few,
    Nor lurking fraud, nor tyrant rapine knew,
    In virtue rude, the gaudy arts they scorn'd,
    Which, virtue lost, degenerate times adorn'd: ...
  • Ode Ix(ii); At Study
    Whither did my fancy stray?
    By what magic drawn away
    Have I left my studious theme?
    From this philosophic page, ...
  • To The Author Of Memoirs Of The House Of Brandenburgh
    The men renown'd as chiefs of human race,
    And born to lead in counsels or in arms,
    Have seldom turn'd their feet from glory's chace
    To dwell with books or court the Muse's charms. ...
  • The Pleasures Of Imagination - The Second Book
    When shall the laurel and the vocal string
    Resume their honours? When shall we behold
    The tuneful tongue, the Promethéan hand
    Aspire to ancient praise? Alas! how faint, ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Mark Akenside

Love 64 I Love You 64 Mind 58 Heart 51 Power 47 Life 46 Divine 43 Tongue 43 Human 42 Heaven 40


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Comments about Mark Akenside

Jardinsecret888: memnon’s harp formed a complementary topos to the more familiar aeolian harp in romanticism—both being used as metaphor for the active receptivity of the imagination, see mark akenside:
Londongrip: the life of mark akenside: roger caldwell commends barbara morden’s work in revisiting the life and work of a neglected poet of the 18th century:
Morganaseoli: [pdf] download ebook the life of mark akenside: a modern way of thinki download now :
Infinita_fiori: the impetuous nerve of passion urges on the native weight and energy of things. akenside, mark. the pleasures of imagination
Infinita_fiori: the flame of passion, through the struggling soul / deep-kindled, shows across that sudden blaze / the object of its rapture, vast of size, / with fiercer colours and a night of shade. akenside, mark. 1720-1771
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Poem of the day

Edgar Albert Guest Poem
The Killing Place
 by Edgar Albert Guest

We're hiking along at a two-forty pace
We 're making life seem like a man-killing race,
With our nerves all on edge and our jaws firmly set
We go rushing along; with our brows lined with sweat
And our cheeks pale and drawn every minute we dash,
And the goal that we 're after is merely more cash.

We 're out for the money, the greenbacks and gold,
...

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