#EnglishWriters #Victorian
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 Summer’s swe…
OLTRE tomba Qualche cosa? E che ne dici? Saremo felici? Terra mai posa,
THERE is a cloud above the sunse… That wends and makes no stay, For its goal lies beyond the fiery… A lingering breath no calm can cha… The onward labour of the wind’s la…
MAGGIOR dolore è ben la Ricord… O nell’ amaro inferno amena stanza…
Epitaph All beauty to pourtray, Therein his duty lay, And still through toilsome strife Duty to him was life—
“How should I your true love know From another one?” “By his cockle—hat and staff And his sandal—shoon.” “And what signs have told you now
LOVE, I speak to your heart, Your heart that is always here. Oh draw me deep to its sphere, Though you and I are apart, And yield, by the spirit’s art,
Andromeda, by Perseus sav’d and w… Hanker’d each day to see the Gorg… Till o’er a fount he held it, bade… And mirror’d in the wave was safel… That death she liv’d by.
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…
This is her picture as she was: It seems a thing to wonder on, As though mine image in the glass Should tarry when myself am gone. I gaze until she seems to stir,—
To—day Death seems to me an infan… Which her worn mother Life upon m… Has set to grow my friend and play… If haply so my heart might be begu… To find no terrors in a face so mi…
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…
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…
Consider the sea’s listless chime: Time’s self it is, made audible,— The murmur of the earth’s own shel… Secret continuance sublime Is the sea’s end: our sight may pa…
Your hands lie open in the long fr… The finger—points look through lik… Your eyes smile peace. The pastur… ‘Neath billowing skies that scatte… All round our nest, far as the eye…