#EnglishWriters #Victorian
I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell: I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights arou…
THE wounded hart and the dying sw… Were side by side Where the rushes coil with the tur… The hart and the swan. AS much as in a hundred years, sh…
THAT voice I hear,—how heard I… Although my home is this, seems fr… There… still it trails along and m… Like the slow death of sound withi… Or like the humming whine in some…
Warmed by her hand and shadowed by… As close she leaned and poured her… Whereof the articulate throbs acco… The smooth black stream that makes… Sweet fluttering sheet, even of he…
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…
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…
Not 'neath the altar only,—yet, in… There more than elsewhere,—is the… The right sown there hath still bo… The wrong waxed fourfold. Thence,… O’er weapons blessed for carnage,…
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…
From child to youth; from youth to… From lethargy to fever of the hear… From faithful life to dream—dower’… From trust to doubt; from doubt to… Thus much of change in one swift c…
A constant keeping—past of shaken… And a bewildered glitter of loose… Banks of bright growth, with singl… Against white sky; and wires—a con… That seem to draw the clouds along…
Dear friend, if there be any bond Which friendship wins not much bey… So old and fond, since thought beg… It may be that whose subtle span Binds Shakespear to an English ma…
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:
The ark of the Lord of Hosts Whose name is called by the name o… Who dwelleth between the Cherubim… O Thou that in no house dost dwel… But walk’st in tent and tabernacle…
So then, the name which travels si… With English life from childhood—… Means this. The sun is setting. “… Till the sunset, and ended,” says… It lacked the “chord” by stage—use…
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…
