#EnglishWriters #Victorian
In a dull swiftness we are carried… With bodies left at sway and shaki… The wind has ceased, or is a feebl… Warm in the sun. The leaves are n… From yesterday’s dense rain. All,…
When do I see thee most, beloved… When in the light the spirits of m… Before thy face, their altar, sole… The worship of that Love through… Or when in the dusk hours, (we two…
This is that blessed Mary, pre—el… God’s Virgin. Gone is a great whi… Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galile… Unto God’s will she brought devou… Profound simplicity of intellect,
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…
ALONG the grass sweet airs are b… Our way this day in Spring. Of all the songs that we have know… Now which one shall we sing? Not that, my love, ah no!—
OF her I thought who now is gone… And, the thought passing over, to… Was like a fall from spirit into s… Or from the heaven of heavens to s… None other than Love’s self ordai…
(In the Academy of Bruges) MYSTERY: God, man’s life, born… Of woman. There abideth on her br… The ended pang of knowledge, the w… Is calm assured. Since first her…
What place so strange,—though unre… With unimaginable fires arise At the earth’s end,—what passion o… Like frost—bound fire—girt scenes… Lo! this is none but I this hour;…
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…
‘TIS of the Father Hilary. He strove, but could not pray; so… The steep—coiled stair, where his… A sad blind echo. Ever up He toiled. ’Twas a sick sway of a…
Even as the moon grows queenlier i… When the sky darkens, and her clou… Thrills with intenser radiance fro… So lambent, lady, beams thy sovere… When the drear soul desires thee.…
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 our Museum galleries To—day I lingered o’er the prize Dead Greece vouchsafes to living… Her Art for ever in fresh wise From hour to hour rejoicing me.
I said: “Nay, pluck not,—let the… Even as thou sayest, it is sweet a… But let it ripen still. The tree’… Sees in the stream its own fecundi… And bides the day of fulness. Sha…
The hour which might have been yet… Which man’s and woman’s heart conc… Yet whereof life was barren,—on wh… Bides it the breaking of Time’s w… Bondchild of all consummate joys s…
