#English #Victorians #XIXCentury
How smiles he at a generation rank… In gloomy noddings over life! The… Not he to feed upon a breast untha… Or eye a beauteous face in a crack… But he can spy that little twist o…
Thou our beloved and light of Ear… The sea of darkness to the yonder… There dost thou shine a light tran… Through love to kindle in our soul…
Two flower-enfolding crystal vases… I love fills daily, mindful but of… And close behind pale morn she, li… Priming our world with light, pour… Clear water in the cup, and into m…
We look for her that sunlike stood Upon the forehead of our day, An orb of nations, radiating food For body and for mind alway. Where is the Shape of glad array;
Men the Angels eyed; And here they were wild waves, And there as marsh descried; Men the Angels eyed, And liked the picture best
I stood at the gate of the cot Where my darling, with side-glance… Would spy, on her trim garden-plot… The busy wild things chase and lur… For these with their ways were her…
Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in hi… Has earth beneath his wings: from… He views the rosy dawn. In vain t… The fatal web below while far he f… But when the arrow strikes him, th…
I cannot lose thee for a day, But like a bird with restless wing My heart will find thee far away, And on thy bosom fall and sing, My nest is here, my rest is here;…
As Puritans they prominently wax, And none more kindly gives and tak… Strong psalmic chanting, like to n… They join to thunderings of their… But naughtiness, with hoggery, not…
Within a Temple of the Toes, Where twirled the passionate Wili… I saw full many a market rose, And sighed for my village lily. With cynical Adrian then I took f…
The varied colours are a fitful he… They pass in constant service thou… The self gone out of them, therewi… Read that, who still to spell our…
I bade my Lady think what she mig… Know I my meaning, I? Can I love… And yet be jealous of another? No… Commits such folly. Terrible Love… Has might, even dead, half sighing…
[Iliad; B. XI V. 378] So he, with a clear shout of laugh… Forth of his ambush leapt, and he… ‘Hit thou art! not in vain flew th… Into the undermost gut, therewith…
Men of our race, we send you one Round whom Victoria’s holy name Is halo from the sunken sun Of her grand Summer’s day aflame. The heart of your loved Motherlan…
Fire in her ashes Ireland feels And in her veins a glow of heat. To her the lost old time, appeals For resurrection, good to greet: Not as a shape with spectral eyes,
