#IrishWriters #Victorian
NOT that I love thy children, wh… See nothing save their own unlovel… Whose minds know nothing, nothing… But that the roar of thy Democrac… Thy reigns of Terror, thy great A…
Sweet, I blame you not, for mine… clay I had climbed the higher heights u… larger day. From the wildness of my wasted pas…
IT is full summer now, the heart… Not yet the sun—burnt reapers are… Upon the upland meadow where too s… Rich autumn time, the season’s usu… Will lend his hoarded gold to all…
MILTON! I think thy spirit hath… From these white cliffs, and high-… This gorgeous fiery-coloured world… Seems fallen into ashes dull and g… And the age changed unto a mimic p…
Now when the darkness came over th… having lighted a torch of pinewood… the valley. For he had business in… And kneeling on the flint stones o… a young man who was naked and weep…
Thou knowest all; I seek in vain What lands to till or sow with see… The land is black with briar and w… Nor cares for falling tears or rai… Thou knowest all; I sit and wait
The sky is laced with fitful red, The circling mists and shadows fle… The dawn is rising from the sea, Like a white lady from her bed. And jagged brazen arrows fall
Two crowned Kings, and One that s… With no green weight of laurels ro… But with sad eyes as one uncomfort… And wearied with man’s never-ceasi… For sins no bleating victim can at…
WHERE hast thou been since round… The sons of God fought in that gr… Why dost thou walk our common eart… Hast thou forgotten that impassion… His purple galley, and his Tyrian…
Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair
Seven stars in the still water, And seven in the sky; Seven sins on the King’s daughter… Deep in her soul to lie. Red roses are at her feet,
WAS this His coming! I had hoped… A scene of wondrous glory, as was… Of some great God who in a rain o… Broke open bars and fell on Danae… Or a dread vision as when Semele
THIS mighty empire hath but feet… Of all its ancient chivalry and mi… Our little island is forsaken quit… Some enemy hath stolen its crown o… And from its hills that voice hath…
Her ivory hands on the ivory keys Strayed in a fitful fantasy, Like the silver gleam when the pop… Rustle their pale—leaves listlessl… Or the drifting foam of a restless…
The sin was mine; I did not under… So now is music prisoned in her ca… Save where some ebbing desultory w… Frets with its restless whirls thi… And in the withered hollow of this…