#EnglishWriters #Victorian
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…
Sweet dimness of her loosened hair… About thy face; her sweet hands ro… In gracious fostering union garlan… Her tremulous smiles; her glances’… Of love; her murmuring sighs memor…
AMBITION, Cupidité, Et délicieuse Volupté, Sont les sœurs de la Destinée Après la vingt—première année.
O Thou who at Love’s hour ecstati… Unto my lips dost evermore present The body and blood of Love in sac… Whom I have neared and felt thy b… The inmost incense of his sanctuar…
Know’st thou not at the fall of th… How the heart feels a languid grie… Laid on it for a covering, And how sleep seems a goodly thing In Autumn at the fall of the leaf…
THROUGH one, years since hanged… Who stabbed backs by the Quarter, Here lieth one who—while Time’s s… Runneth, as God hath taught her, Bearing man’s fame to men,—will ha…
ON a fair Sabbath day, when His… It is pleasant to feast with my L… His stewards stand robed at the fo… Of the soul—filling, life—giving b… All the guests here had burthens;…
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…
The hour which might have been yet… Which man’s and woman’s heart conc… Yet whereof life was barren,—on wh… Bides it the breaking of Time’s w… Bondchild of all consummate joys s…
THE shadows fall along the wall, It’s night at Haye—la—Serre; The maidens weave since day grew e… The lady’s in her chair. O passing slow the long hours go
Even as a child, of sorrow that we… The dead, but little in his heart… Since without need of thought to h… Their turn it is to die and his to… Even so the winged New Love smile…
First Snow, February WOOLNER, to—night it snows for… Our feet know well the path where… Mine leave one track: how all the… Are hoary in the long—unwonted rim…
I DID not look upon her eyes, (Though scarcely seen, with no sur… 'Mid many eyes a single look,) Because they should not gaze rebuk… At night, from stars in sky and br…
YESTERDAY was St. Valentine. Thought you at all, dear dove divi… Upon the beard in sorry trim And rueful countenance of him, That Orson who’s your Valentine?
Beauty like hers is genius. Not t… Of Homer’s or of Dante’s heart su… Not Michael’s hand furrowing the… Is more with compassed mysteries m… Nay, not in Spring’s or Summer’s…