#English #Victorians #XIXCentury
Because our talk was of the cloud—… And moon—track of the journeying f… Her tremulous kisses faltered at l… And her eyes dreamed against a dis… But soon, remembering her how brie…
The cuckoo—throb, the heartbeat of… The rosebud’s blush that leaves it… Into the full—eyed fair unblushing… The summer clouds that visit every… With fires of sunrise and of sunse…
THERE is a cloud above the sunse… That wends and makes no stay, For its goal lies beyond the fiery… A lingering breath no calm can cha… The onward labour of the wind’s la…
It is grey tingling azure overhead With silver drift. Beneath, where… The trees are reared, the distance… At peace: and on this side the who… For sowing and for harvest, subjec…
CON manto d’oro, collana, ed anel… Le piace aver con quelli Non altro che una rosa ai suoi cap… WITH golden mantle, rings, and n… It likes her best to wear
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…
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…
In whomsoe’er, since Poesy began, A Poet most of all men we may sca… Burns of all poets is the most a…
AS he that loves oft looks on the… And guesses how it grew to womanho… And gladly would have watched the… And the mild fire of precious life… So I, long bound within the three…
How dear the sky has been above th… Small treasures of this sky that w… Seen weak through prison—bars from… Eyed with a painful prayer upon G… To save, and tears which stayed al…
THE hop—shop is shut up: the nigh… Here, early, Collinson this eveni… “Into the gulfs of sleep”; and De… Has turned upon the pivot of his c… The whole of this night long; and…
Sometimes she is a child within mi… Cowering beneath dark wings that l… With still tears showering and ave… Inexplicably filled with faint ala… And oft from mine own spirit’s hur…
Epitaph All beauty to pourtray, Therein his duty lay, And still through toilsome strife Duty to him was life—
‘There is a budding morrow in midn… So sang our Keats, our English ni… And here, as lamps across the brid… In London’s smokeless resurrectio… Dark breaks to dawn. But o’er the…
