#EnglishWriters #Victorian
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…
To whom but you, dear Friend, should I dedicate verses—some few written, all of them supervised, in the comfort of your presence, and with yet another experience of the gracious hospita...
Fear death?—to feel the fog in my… The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blas… I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press…
It once might have been, once only… We lodged in a street together, You, a sparrow on the housetop lon… I, a lone she—bird of his feather. Your trade was with sticks and cla…
ALL the breath and the bloom of t… All the wonder and wealth of the m… In the core of one pearl all the s… Breath and bloom, shade and shine,… Truth, that’s brighter than gem,
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,
A. You blame me that I ran away? Why, Sir, the enemy advanced: Balls flew about, and—who can say But one, if I stood firm, had gla… In my direction? Cowardice?
. All June I bound the rose in shea… Now, rose by rose, I strip the le… And strew them where Pauline may… She will not turn aside? Alas!
“So say the foolish!” Say the foo… “Flower she is, my rose”—or else,… Or perhaps, “Yon maid-moon, bless… That art thou!”—to them, belike: n… “Hush, rose, blush! no balm like b…
Morning, evening, noon and night, 'Praise God!; sang Theocrite. Then to his poor trade he turned, Whereby the daily meal was earned. Hard he laboured, long and well;
She. Yet womanhood you reverence, So you profess! He. Wi… She. Of which fact this is eviden… To help Art-study,—for some dole
All I can say is—I saw it! The room was as bare as your hand. I locked in the swarth little lady… From the head to the foot of her—w… ‘No Nautch shall cheat me,’ said…
WHAT girl but, having gathered f… Stript the beds and spoilt the bow… From the lapful light she carries Drops a careless bud?—nor tarries To regain the waif and stray:
Cleon the poet (from the sprinkled… Lily on lily, that o’erlace the se… And laugh their pride when the lig… To Protus in his Tyranny: much he… They give thy letter to me, even n…
ON WHICH THE JEWS WER… ATTEND AN ANNUAL CHR… IN ROME. ['Now was come about Holy-Cross… and now must my lord preach his fi…