#EnglishWriters #Victorian
ANCIEN RGIME. Now that I, tying thy glass mask… May gaze thro’ these faint smokes… As thou pliest thy trade in this d… Which is the poison to poison her,…
She should never have looked at me If she meant I should not love he… There are plenty... men, you call… I suppose... she may discover All her soul to, if she pleases,
Never the time and the place And the loved one all together! This path—how soft to pace! This May—what magic weather! Where is the loved one’s face?
OVER the sea our galleys went, With cleaving prows in order brave To a speeding wind and a bounding… A gallant armament: Each bark built out of a forest-tr…
Here’s my case. Of old I used to… This same unseen friend, before I… Dream there was none like him, non… Wake to hope and trust my dream wa… Loved I not his letters full of b…
The year’s at the spring, And day’s at the morn; Morning’s at seven; The hill-side’s dew-pearled; The lark’s on the wing;
It is a lie—their Priests, their… Their Saints, their... all they f… Are lies, and lies—there! through… And ceiling, there! and walls and… There, lies, they lie—shall still…
Had I but plenty of money, money… The house for me, no doubt, were a… Ah, such a life, such a life, as o… Something to see, by Bacchus, som… There, the whole day long, one’s l…
[SPAIN.] It is a lie—-their Priests, their… Their Saints, their... all they f… Are lies, and lies—-there! through… And ceiling, there! and walls and…
I know there shall dawn a day —Is it here on homely earth? Is it yonder, worlds away, Where the strange and new have bir… That Power comes full in play?
HIST, but a word, fair and soft! Forth and be judged, Master Hugue… Answer the question I’ve put you… What do you mean by your mountaino… See, we’re alone in the loft,—
(after he has been extemporizin… Would that the structure brave, th… Bidding my organ obey, calling its… Claiming each slave of the sound,… Armies of angels that soar, legion…
Let us begin and carry up this cor… Singing together. Leave we the common crofts, the vu… Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the…
Gr-r-r—-there go, my heart’s abhor… Water your damned flower-pots, do! If hate killed men, Brother Lawre… God’s blood, would not mine kill y… What? your myrtle-bush wants trimm…
If one could have that little head… Painted upon a background of pale… Such as the Tuscan’s early art pr… No shade encroaching on the matchl… Of those two lips, which should be…