#EnglishWriters #Victorian
Could Juno’s self more sovereign… Than thou, 'mid other ladies thron… Or Pallas, when thou bend’st with… O’er poet’s page gold—shadowed in… Dost thou than Venus seem less he…
Sweet stream—fed glen, why say “fa… Who far’st so well and find’st for… The brow of Time where man may re… Nay, do thou rather say “farewell”… Who now fare forth in bitterer fan…
The lilies stand before her like a… Through which, upon this warm and… God surely hears. For there she k… Who wafts our prayers to God—Mary… She was Faith’s Present, parting…
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…
She hath the apple in her hand for… Yet almost in her heart would hold… She muses, with her eyes upon the… Of that which in thy spirit they c… Haply, “Behold, he is at peace,”…
IN a soft—complexioned sky, Fleeting rose and kindling grey, Have you seen Aurora fly At the break of day? So my maiden, so my plighted may
By what word’s power, the key of p… Shall I the difficult deeps of Lo… Till parted waves of Song yield u… Even as that sea which Israel cro… For lo! in some poor rhythmic peri…
This word had Merlin said from of… That out of the Oak Tree Shade In the day of France’s direst dul… God’s hand should send a Maid. And where Domremy, by Burgundy,
She fell asleep on Christmas Eve: At length the long—ungranted shade Of weary eyelids overweigh’d The pain nought else might yet rel… Our mother, who had lean’d all day
What of her glass without her? Th… There where the pool is blind of t… Her dress without her? The tossed… Of cloud—rack whence the moon has… Her paths without her? Day’s appo…
Lazy laughing languid Jenny, Fond of a kiss and fond of a guine… Whose head upon my knee to—night Rests for a while, as if grown lig… With all our dances and the sound
MY young lord’s the lover Of earth and sky above, Of youth’s sway and youth’s play, Of songs and flowers and love. Yet for love’s desire
Christ sprang from David Shepherd… From David King, being born of hi… The Shepherd lays his crook, the… Here at Christ’s feet, and high a…
As thy friend’s face, with shadow… Somewhile unto thy sight perchance… Ghastly and strange, yet never so… In thought, but to all fortunate f… As thy love’s death—bound features…
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
