#EnglishWriters #RhymedStanza #Victorian
Old Yew, which graspest at the st… That name the under-lying dead, Thy fibres net the dreamless head, Thy roots are wrapt about the bone… The seasons bring the flower again…
Dosn’t thou ‘ear my ’erse’s legs,… Proputty, proputty, proputty—that’… Proputty, proputty, proputty—Sam,… Theer’s moor sense i’ one o’ 'is l… Woä—theer’s a craw to pluck wi’ th…
When on my bed the moonlight falls… I know that in thy place of rest By that broad water of the west, There comes a glory on the walls: Thy marble bright in dark appears,
Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fir… Ilion falling, Rome arising, wars, and filial faith, and Dido’s… Landscape—lover, lord of language
When cats run home and light is co… And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round,
(For Music) What sight so lured him thro’ the… As where earth’s green stole into… Far-far-away? What sound was dearest in his nati…
Illyrian woodlands, echoing falls Of water, sheets of summer glass, The long divine Peneian pass, The vast Akrokeraunian walls, Tomohrit, Athos, all things fair,
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now… Nor waves the cypress in the palac… Nor winks the gold fin in the porp… The firefly wakens; waken thou wit… Now droops the milk—white peacock…
That which we dare invoke to bless… Our dearest faith; our ghastliest… He, They, One, All; within, with… The Power in darkness whom we gue… I found Him not in world or sun,
That story which the bold Sir Bed… First made and latest left of all… Told, when the man was no more tha… In the white winter of his age, to… With whom he dwelt, new faces, oth…
All Things will Die Clearly the blue river chimes in i… Under my eye; Warmly and broadly the south winds… Over the sky.
Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in… Had made mock—knight of Arthur’s… At Camelot, high above the yellow… Danced like a wither’d leaf before… And toward him from the hall, with…
A city clerk, but gently born and… His wife, an unknown artist’s orph… One babe was theirs, a Margaret,… They, thinking that her clear germ… Droopt in the giant-factoried city…
Still on the tower stood the vane, A black yew gloomed the stagnant a… I peered athwart the chancel pane And saw the altar cold and bare. A clog of lead was round my feet,