#English #Victorians #XIXCentury
“Sister,” said busy Amelotte To listless Aloÿse; “Along your wedding—road the wheat Bends as to hear your horse’s feet… And the noonday stands still for h…
LAY your head here, Mary, Lay your head here, While the blown grass, Mary, With timid voice and wary, Sings in your ear:—
ONE scarce would think that we ca… Who used, in those first childish… With held breath through the under… Outside into the sun. Since this… Took me unto itself, the joy which…
YOU say I should not think upon… But then I have stood beside her… And watched her rose—breathed lips… And I can scarcely yet imagine ho… I ever should despise that stately…
As when two men have loved a woman… Each hating each, through Love’s… Since not for either this stark ma… And the long pauses of this weddin… Yet o’er her grave the night and d…
Is Memory most of miseries misera… Or the one flower of ease in bitte…
Ye who have passed Death’s haggar… Whom trees that knew your sires sh… And still stand silent:—is it all… A wisp that laughs upon the wall?—… Of some inexorable supremacy
I marked all kindred Powers the h… Truth, with awed lips; and Hope,… And Fame, whose loud wings fan th… To signal—fires, Oblivion’s fligh… And Youth, with still some single…
In whomsoe’er, since Poesy began, A Poet most of all men we may sca… Burns of all poets is the most a…
As one who, groping in a narrow st… Hath a strong sound of bells upon… Which, being at a distance off, ap… Quite close to him because of the… So with this France. She stumbles…
The day is dark and the night To him that would search their hea… No lips of cloud that will part Nor morning song in the light: Only, gazing alone,
Thou lovely and beloved, thou my l… Whose kiss seems still the first;… Even now, as for our love—world’s… Shed very dawn; whose voice, attun… All modulation of the deep—bowered…
Lady, I thank thee for thy loveli… Because my lady is more lovely sti… Glorying I gaze, and yield with g… To thee thy tribute; by whose swee… Of delicate life Love labours to…
The turn of noontide has begun. In the weak breeze the sunshine yi… There is a bell upon the fields. On the long hedgerow’s tangled run A low white cottage intervenes:
What is the sorriest thing that en… None of the sins,—but this and tha… Which a soul’s sin at length could… These yet are virgins, whom death’… Might once have sainted; whom the…