#English #Victorians #XIXCentury
As the child knows not if his moth… Be fair; nor of his elders yet can… What each most is; but as of hill… At dawn, all glimmering life surro… Who yet, tow’rd noon of his half—w…
Could you not drink her gaze like… Yet though its splendour swoon Into the silence languidly As a tune into a tune, Those eyes unravel the coiled nigh…
Behold, even I, even I am Beatri… (Div. Com. Purg. xxx.) OF Florence and of Beatrice Servant and singer from of old, O’er Dante’s heart in youth had t…
NON NOI PITTORI! God of Nat… If these, not we! Be it not said,… Of us goes hence: “As these did,… His feet sought out their footprin… Because, dear God! the flesh Thou…
SAY, is it day, is it dusk in thy… Thou whom I long for, who longest… Oh! be it light, be it night, 'tis… Love’s that is fettered as Love’s… Free love has leaped to that inner…
I. ST. LUKE THE PAINTER Give honour unto Luke Evangelist; For he it was (the aged legends sa… Who first taught Art to fold her… Scarcely at once she dared to rend…
As when desire, long darkling, daw… The mother looks upon the newborn… Even so my Lady stood at gaze and… When her soul knew at length the… Born with her life, creature of po…
THIS tree, here fall’n, no commo… Shared with its kind. The world’s… Who found the trees of Life and K… Here set it, frailer than his laur… Shall not the wretch whose hand it…
Between the hands, between the bro… Between the lips of Love—Lily, A spirit is born whose birth endow… My blood with fire to burn through… Who breathes upon my gazing eyes,
Some ladies love the jewels in Lo… And gold—tipped darts he hath for… In idle scornful hours he flings a… And some that listen to his lute’s… Do love to vaunt the silver praise…
By none but me can the tale be tol… The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold… (Lands are swayed by a King on a… 'Twas a royal train put forth to s… Yet the tale can be told by none b…
THE head and hands of murdered C… Above his seat high in the Forum… Drew jeers and burning tears. Whe… Of a swift—mounted ladder, all agl… Fluvia, Mark Antony’s shameless w…
THAT voice I hear,—how heard I… Although my home is this, seems fr… There… still it trails along and m… Like the slow death of sound withi… Or like the humming whine in some…
SHE fluted with her mouth as when… And gently waved her golden head,… Outside his cage close to the wind… Till her fond bird, with little tu… Piped low to her of sweet companio…
AT length I sickened, standing in… Truthful and for the Truth, whose… Are madness and sharp death. I bo… And said: “As long as the world’s… These accents have been said and t…
