#EnglishWriters #Victorian
O that ‘twere possible After long grief and pain To find the arms of my true love Round me once again! When I was wont to meet her
Where Claribel low—lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose—leaves fall: But the solemn oak—tree sigheth, Thick—leaved, ambrosial,
Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go,
1. Is it the wind of the dawn that… in the pine overhead? 2. No; but the voice of the deep a… the cliffs of the land. 1. Is there a voice coming up with…
Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in… Little flower-but if I could unde… What you are, root and all, all in…
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…
Come down, O maid, from yonder mo… What pleasure lives in height (the… In height and cold, the splendour… But cease to move so near the Hea… To glide a sunbeam by the blasted…
BANNER of England, not for a se… Floated in conquering battle or fl… Never with mightier glory than whe… Flying at top of the roofs in the… Shot thro’ the staff or the halyar…
The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the l… And the wild cataract leaps in glo… Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild ec…
O maiden, fresher than the first g… With which the fearful springtide… Weep not, Almeida, that I said to… That thou hast half my heart, for… Doth hold the other half in sovran…
Sad Hesper o’er the buried sun And ready, thou, to die with him, Thou watchest all things ever dim And dimmer, and a glory done: The team is loosen’d from the wain…
From noiseful arms, and acts of pr… In tournament or tilt, Sir Perciv… Whom Arthur and his knighthood ca… Had passed into the silent life of… Praise, fast, and alms; and leavin…
“So careful of the type?” but no. From scarped cliff and quarried st… She cries, “A thousand types are… I care for nothing, all shall go. ”Thou makest thine appeal to me:
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…