#English #Victorians
The Castle Down the Savoy valleys sounding, Echoing round this castle old, 'Mid the distant mountain-chalets Hark! what bell for church is toll…
When I shall be divorced, some te… From this poor present self which… When youth has done its tedious va… Of passions that for ever ebb and… Shall I not joy youth’s heats are…
THEY are gone: all is still: Foo… Nothing moves on the lawn but the… Far up gleams the house, and benea… Here lean, my head, on this cool b… Ere he come: ere the boat, by the…
Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew! In quiet she reposes; Ah, would that I did too! Her mirth the world required;
Was it a dream? We sail’d, I thou… Martin and I, down the green Alpi… Border’d, each bank, with pines; t… On the wet umbrage of their glossy… On the red pinings of their forest…
WHO taught this pleading to unpra… Who hid such import in an infant’s… Who lent thee, child, this meditat… What clouds thy forehead, and fore… Lo! sails that gleam a moment and…
“Not by the justice that my father… Not for the thousands whom my fath… Altars unfed and temples overturn’… Cold hearts and thankless tongues,… Fell this dread voice from lips th…
In * the cedar shadow sleeping, Where cool grass and fragrant gloo… Oft at noon have lur’d me, creepin… From your darken’d palace rooms: I, who in your train at morning…
AFFECTIONS, Instincts, Princ… Impulse and Reason, Freedom and… So men, unravelling God’s harmoni… Rend in a thousand shreds this lif… Vain labour! Deep and broad, wher…
Before man parted for this earthly… While yet upon the verge of heaven… God put a heap of letters in his h… And bade him make with them what w… And man has turn’d them many times…
Why, when the World’s great mind Hath finally inclin’d, Why, you say, Critias, be debatin… Why, with these mournful rhymes Learn’d in more languid climes,
“Miserere, Domine! The words are utter’d, and they flee. Deep is their penitential moan, Mighty their pathos, but ’tis gone. They have declared the spirit’s sore Sore load, and words ca...
Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Gree… Long since, saw Byron’s struggle… But one such death remain’d to com… The last poetic voice is dumb. What shall be said o’er Wordswort…
Foil’d by our fellow-men, depress’… We leave the brutal world to take… And, Patience! in another life, w… The world shall be thrust down, an… And will not, then, the immortal a…
I ask not that my bed of death From bands of greedy heirs be free… For these besiege the latest breat… Of fortune’s favoured sons, not me… I ask not each kind soul to keep
