#EnglishWriters #Victorian
THE head and hands of murdered C… Above his seat high in the Forum… Drew jeers and burning tears. Whe… Of a swift—mounted ladder, all agl… Fluvia, Mark Antony’s shameless w…
Great Michelangelo, with age grow… And uttermost labours, having once… All grievous memories on his long… This worst regret to one true hear… That when, with sorrowing love and…
Not that the earth is changing, O… Nor that the seasons totter in the… Not that the virulent ill of act a… Seethes ever as a winepress ever t… Not therefore are we certain that…
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…
I LOOKED and saw your eyes In the shadow of your hair, As a traveller sees the stream In the shadow of the wood; And I said, “My faint heart sighs…
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…
TURN not the prophet’s page, O… All that Thou hast to suffer, and… Not yet Thine hour of knowledge.… The sorrows that Thy manhood’s lo… And dire acquaintance of Thy grie…
What is the sorriest thing that en… None of the sins,—but this and tha… Which a soul’s sin at length could… These yet are virgins, whom death’… Might once have sainted; whom the…
O COOL unto the sense of pain That last night’s sleep could not… O warm unto the sense of joy, That dreams its life within the br… What though I lean o’er thee to s…
Lazy laughing languid Jenny, Fond of a kiss and fond of a guine… Whose head upon my knee to—night Rests for a while, as if grown lig… With all our dances and the sound
Upon a Flemish road, when noon wa… I passed a little consecrated shri… Where, among simple pictures range… The blessed Mary holds her child… To kneel here, shepherd—maidens le…
IN this new shade of Death, the s… Passes me still of form and face; Some bent, some gazing as they go, Some swiftly, some at a dull pace, Not one that speaks in any case.
WITH Shakspeare’s manhood at a b… Through Hamlet’s doubt to Shakspe… And kin to Milton through his Sat… At Death’s sole door he stooped,… And to the dear new bower of Engl…
As growth of form or momentary gla… In a child’s features will recall… The father’s with the mother’s fac… Sweet interchange that memories st… And yet, as childhood’s years and…
O thou who at Love’s hour ecstati… Unto my heart dost evermore presen… Clothed with his fire, thy heart h… Whom I have neared and felt thy b… The inmost incense of his sanctuar…