#EnglishWriters #Victorian
SHE opened her moist crimson lips… And from her throat that is so whi… The notes leaped like a fountain.… Was o’er my heart: as when—a viol—… Having been broken—the first music…
OH how the family affections comb… Within this heart, and each hour f… My burning soul! Neither from owl… Can peace be gained until I clasp…
A little while a little love The hour yet bears for thee and me Who have not drawn the veil to see If still our heaven be lit above. Thou merely, at the day’s last sig…
Eat thou and drink; to—morrow thou… Surely the earth, that’s wise bein… Needs not our help. Then loose me… Thy sultry hair up from my face; t… May pour for thee this golden wine…
WHAT of the end, Pandora? Was i… The deed that set these fiery pini… Ah! wherefore did the Olympian co… In its own likeness make thee half… Was it that Juno’s brow might sta…
'Twixt those twin worlds,—the worl… No dream to warn,—the tidal world… Which the earth’s sea, as the eart… Shelley, Song’s orient sun, to br… Rose from this couch that morn. A…
Look in my face; my name is Might… I am also call’d No—more, Too—lat… Unto thine ear I hold the dead—se… Cast up thy Life’s foam—fretted f… Unto thine eyes the glass where th…
I deemed thy garments, O my Hope,… So far I viewed thee. Now the spa… Is passed at length; and garmented… Even as in days of yore thou stand… Ah God! and but for lingering dul…
Sweet Love,—but oh! most dread De… Life—thwarted. Linked in gyves I… Love shackled with Vain—longing,… And one was eyed as the blue vault… But hope tempestuous like a fire—c…
(In the Louvre) SCARCELY, I think; yet it inde… The meaning reached him, when this… Clear through his frame, a sweet p… And he beheld these rocks and that…
Your hands lie open in the long fr… The finger—points look through lik… Your eyes smile peace. The pastur… ‘Neath billowing skies that scatte… All round our nest, far as the eye…
Bless love and hope. Full many a… Whirled past us, eddying to its ch… And clasped together where the blo… We long have knelt and wept full m… Yet lo! one hour at last, the Spr…
Look in my face; my name is Might… I am also called No—more, Too—lat… Unto thine ear I hold the dead—se… Cast up thy Life’s foam—fretted f… Unto thine eyes the glass where th…
IT’S copied out at last: very poo… Writ in the cold, with pauses of t… Direct, dear William, to the Post… At Ghent—here written Gand—Gong,… We go to Antwerp first, but shall…