#EnglishWriters #Victorian
Not I myself know all my love for… How should I reach so far, who ca… To—morrow’s dower by gage of yeste… Shall birth and death, and all dar… As doors and windows bared to some…
I. HERSELF To be a sweetness more desired tha… A bodily beauty more acceptable Than the wild rose—tree’s arch tha… To be an essence more environing
UNCERTAIN—AGED Miss Thereab… Tough fossil of her teens, Has lifted up with saving hand The ruined Smithereens. Down the dark steps of debt that h…
On this sweet bank your head thric… I lay, and spread your hair on eit… And see the newborn woodflowers ba… Look through the golden tresses he… On these debateable borders of the…
LADY, in thy proud eyes There is a weary look, As if the spirit we know through t… Were daunted with rebuke To think that the heart of man hen…
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:
“Thou Ghost,” I said, “and is thy… Yesterday’s son, with such an abje… And can To—morrow be more pale th… While yet I spoke, the silence an… Henceforth our issue is all grieve…
First Snow, February WOOLNER, to—night it snows for… Our feet know well the path where… Mine leave one track: how all the… Are hoary in the long—unwonted rim…
Around the vase of Life at your s… He has not crept, but turned it wi… And all its sides already understa… There, girt, one breathes alert fo… Whose road runs far by sands and f…
LO the twelfth year—the wedding—f… With years for months—and lo the b… Out of the womb’s rank furnace cas… And with contagious effluence seam… To hail this birth, what fiery ton…
HERE writ was the World’s Histo… Whose steps knew all the earth; al… In these few piteous paces then wa… Here daily, hourly, have his proud… This smaller speck than the recedi…
'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…
Some ladies love the jewels in Lo… And gold—tipped darts he hath for… In idle scornful hours he flings a… And some that listen to his lute’s… Do love to vaunt the silver praise…
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…
AH! dear one, we were young so lo… It seemed that youth would never g… For skies and trees were ever in s… And water in singing flow In the days we never again shall k…