#EnglishWriters #Victorian
Thou lovely and beloved, thou my l… Whose kiss seems still the first;… Even now, as for our love—world’s… Shed very dawn; whose voice, attun… All modulation of the deep—bowered…
Strong extreme speed, that the bra… Further than trees, and hedges, an… Whitened by distance,—further than… Held among fields and gardens,—fur… Haystacks and windmill—sails and r…
Tell me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora the lovely Roman? Where’s Hipparchia, and where is… Neither of them the fairer woman? Where is Echo, beheld of no man,
Not in thy body is thy life at all But in this lady’s lips and hands… Through these she yields thee life… What else were sorrow’s servant an… Look on thyself without her, and r…
'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…
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,
Let no man ask thee of anything Not yearborn between Spring and S… More of all worlds than he can kno… Each day the single sun doth show. A trustier gloss than thou canst g…
Look in my face; my name is Might… I am also call’d No—more, Too—lat… Unto thine ear I hold the dead—se… Cast up thy Life’s foam—fretted f… Unto thine eyes the glass where th…
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…
Dusk—haired and gold—robed o’er th… She stoops, wherein, distilled of… Sink the black drops; while, lit w… Round her spread board the golden… Doth Helios here with Hecate comb…
The thronged boughs of the shadowy… Still bear young leaflets half the… From when the robin 'gainst the un… Perched dark, till now, deep in th… The embowered throstle’s urgent wo…
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…
Sometimes she is a child within mi… Cowering beneath dark wings that l… With still tears showering and ave… Inexplicably fill’d with faint ala… And oft from mine own spirit’s hur…
O lovely hand, that thy sweet self… In that thy pure and proper elemen… Whence erst the Lady of Love’s hi… Was born, and endless fires sprang… Even as her Loves to her their of…
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