#English #Victorians
Ye storm-winds of Autumn Who rush by, who shake The window, and ruffle The gleam-lighted lake; Who cross to the hill-side
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…
Yes: in the sea of life enisl’d, With echoing straits between us th… Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone. The islands feel the enclasping fl…
Why each is striving, from of old, To love more deeply than he can? Still would be true, yet still gro… —Ask of the Powers that sport wit… They yok’d in him, for endless str…
The evening comes, the fields are… The tinkle of the thirsty rill, Unheard all day, ascends again; Deserted is the half-mown plain, Silent the swaths! the ringing wai…
SAY, what blinds us, that we clai… Of possessing powers not our share… Since man woke on earth, he knows… But, before we woke on earth, we w… Long, long since, undower’d yet, o…
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,
Though the Muse be gone away, Though she move not earth to-day, Souls, erewhile who caught her wor… Ah! still harp on what they heard.
Again I see my bliss at hand; The town, the lake are here. My Marguerite smiles upon the str… Unalter’d with the year. I know that graceful figure fair,
Vain is the effort to forget. Some day I shall be cold, I know, As is the eternal moon-lit snow Of the high Alps, to which I go: But ah, not yet! not yet!
‘In harmony with Nature’? Restles… Who with such heat dost preach wha… When true, the last impossibility; To be like Nature strong, like Na… Know, man hath all which Nature h…
Affections, Instincts, Principles… Impulse and Reason, Freedom and… So men, unravelling God’s harmoni… Rend in a thousand shreds this lif… Vain labour! Deep and broad, wher…
“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...
Come to me in my dreams, and then By day I shall be well again. For then the night will more than… The hopeless longing of the day. Come, as thou cam’st a thousand ti…
Far, far from here, The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay Among the green Illyrian hills; a… The sunshine in the happy glens is… And by the sea, and in the brakes.
