#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…
Beauty like hers is genius. Not t… Of Homer’s or of Dante’s heart su… Not Michael’s hand furrowing the… Is more with compassed mysteries m… Nay, not in Spring’s or Summer’s…
I WAITED for the train unto Ve… I hung with bonnes and gamins on t… Watching the gravelled road where,… Under black arches gleam the iron… Clear in the darkness, till the da…
O leave your hand where it lies co… Upon the eyes whose lids are hot: Its rosy shade is bountiful Of silence, and assuages thought. O lay your lips against your hand
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…
LAY your head here, Mary, Lay your head here, While the blown grass, Mary, With timid voice and wary, Sings in your ear:—
IN grappled ships around The Vic… Three boys did England’s Duty wit… While one dread truth was kept fro… More dire than deafening fire that… For in the flag—ship’s weltering c…
OH how the family affections comb… Within this heart, and each hour f… My burning soul! Neither from owl… Can peace be gained until I clasp…
Girt in dark growths, yet glimmeri… O night desirous as the nights of… Why should my heart within thy spe… Now beat, as the bride’s finger—pu… Quickened within the girdling gold…
This feast—day of the sun, his alt… In the broad west has blazed for v… And I have loitered in the vale t… And gaze now a belated worshipper. Yet may I not forget that I was '…
O COOL unto the sense of pain That last night’s sleep could not… O warm unto the sense of joy, That dreams its life within the br… What though I lean o’er thee to s…
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
AT length the then of my long hop… Yet had my spirit an extreme unres… I knew the good from better was gr… At length, but could not just as y… So I lay straight along, and thru…
HONEY—FLOWERS to the honey—c… And the honey—bee’s from home. A honey—comb and a honey—flower, And the bee shall have his hour. A honeyed heart for the honey—comb…
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.
