#English #Victorians #XIXCentury
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…
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…
Mother of the Fair Delight, Thou handmaid perfect in God’s si… Now sitting fourth beside the Thr… Thyself a woman—Trinity,— Being a daughter born to God,
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…
‘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…
O RUFF—EMBASTIONED vast El… Bush to these bushel—bellied casks… Home—growth, 'tis true, but rank a… What would we with such skittle—pl… Say, must we watch these brawlers’…
TO—NIGHT this sunset spreads tw… Cleaving the western sky; Winged too with wind it is, and wi… Of birds; as if the day’s last hou… Of strenuous flight must die.
The gloom that breathes upon me wi… Is like the drops which stike the… Who knows not, darkling, if they b… Fresh storm, or be old rain the co… Ah! bodes this hour some harvest o…
I Catherine am a Douglas born, A name to all Scots dear; And Kate Barlass they’ve called m… Through many a waning year. This old arm’s withered now. ‘Twa…
What smouldering senses in death’s… Or seizure of malign vicissitude Can rob this body of honour, or de… This soul of wedding—raiment worn… For lo! even now my lady’s lips di…
To all the spirits of Love that w… Along his love—sown harvest—field… My lady lies apparent; and the dee… Calls to the deep; and no man sees… The bliss so long afar, at length…
Not in thy body is thy life at all But in this lady’s lips and hands… Through these she yields thee life… What else were sorrow’s servant an… Look on thyself without her, and r…
THESE little firs to—day are thi… To clasp into a giant’s cap, Or fans to suit his lady’s lap. From many winters many springs Shall cherish them in strength and…
HERE lies Duns Scotus Who died of lotus.
So it is, my dear. All such things touch secret strin… For heavy hearts to hear. So it is, my dear. Very like indeed:
