#EnglishWriters #Victorian
When vain desire at last and vain… Go hand in hand to death, and all… What shall assuage the unforgotten… And teach the unforgetful to forge… Shall Peace be still a sunk strea…
I WAITED for the train unto Ve… I hung with bonnes and gamins on t… Watching the gravelled road where,… Under black arches gleam the iron… Clear in the darkness, till the da…
Tell me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora the lovely Roman? Where’s Hipparchia, and where is… Neither of them the fairer woman? Where is Echo, beheld of no man,
I climbed the stair in Antwerp ch… What time the circling thews of so… At sunset seem to heave it round. Far up, the carillon did search The wind, and the birds came to pe…
This word had Merlin said from of… That out of the Oak Tree Shade In the day of France’s direst dul… God’s hand should send a Maid. And where Domremy, by Burgundy,
On the first day the priest Could find no heart in the beast, And two on the second day.
YOU say I should not think upon… But then I have stood beside her… And watched her rose—breathed lips… And I can scarcely yet imagine ho… I ever should despise that stately…
“DIGITUM tuum, Thoma, Infer, et vide manûs! Manum tuam, Thoma, Affer, et mitte in latus.” “Dominus et Deus,
How large that thrush looks on the… A swarm of such, three little mont… Had hidden in the leaves and let n… Save by the outburst of their mins… A white flake here and there—a sno…
Love, through your spirit and mine… Now glows with glory of all things… Since this day’s sun of rapture fi… And the light sweetened as the fir… Awhile now softlier let your bosom…
I said: “Nay, pluck not,—let the… Even as thou sayest, it is sweet a… But let it ripen still. The tree’… Sees in the stream its own fecundi… And bides the day of fulness. Sha…
Your hands lie open in the long fr… The finger—points look through lik… Your eyes smile peace. The pastur… ‘Neath billowing skies that scatte… All round our nest, far as the eye…
18th November 1852 “VICTORY!” So once more the cry must be. Duteous mourning we fulfil In God’s name; but by God’s will,
‘There is a budding morrow in midn… So sang our Keats, our English ni… And here, as lamps across the brid… In London’s smokeless resurrectio… Dark breaks to dawn. But o’er the…
The gloom that breathes upon me wi… Is like the drops which stike the… Who knows not, darkling, if they b… Fresh storm, or be old rain the co… Ah! bodes this hour some harvest o…