#1878 #ABookOfMiscellaneousLyrics #EnglishWriters #VictorianWriters
OH, what is Life? A magic nigh… In which we still to phantoms yiel… And what is Death, if not the lig… By which the real truth’s reveal’d…
AS ever a bard in such pitiful pl… Was ever such seen by yon stars in… A-pit or a-bed, by day and by nigh… I’m plagued by the magic of two ha… A leaf in a whirlwind, I’m sent t…
THEY cry, ‘How light the heart a… From which proceed such strains of gladness!’ They can’t discern the pangs that… And seek to drive the bard to madn…
‘I HAVE oped my inner vision,’ (Spake the Spirit to the Seer,) ‘Now I’ll show to thee the missio… Which whatever betides—whate’er— Thou by heaven’s high permission s…
THE stars are twinkling in the sk… As to the pit I go; I think not of the sheen on high, But of the gloom below. Not rest nor peace, but toil and s…
My heart is away with the lad of… And never can I to another be tie… Not, not to be titled a lord’s wed… Could Jinny abandon the lad of Be… He dances so clever, he whistles s…
‘You wont!’ the Rose’s accents ri… ‘I will!’ the Golden Bee’s are ri… And tho’ the winds, to aid her, sp… Soon with the breeze-tost bloom he… swinging.
ELEVEN long winters departed Since you and he sailed o’er the m… Dear, dear—I’ve been thrice broke… And thrice—but, ah, let me refrain… There was not a lassie in Plessy,
COME sing me the song that once… And the heart unsubdued till that… That with its red rose caused the… That long year after year without… With thy hand on my hand, and thy…
‘NOT now shall I sing of my spor… But the golden hours and gay,’ Sang the Breeze, ‘when I, a wild… With the Summer flowers to play. ’When I tiptoe go to the pansy, t…
THE fickle Moon has left the ski… But Night’s blue veil with stars… And every little twinkler tries To twinkle as he’d never twinkled. O, now’s the hour for Love to pou…
O, MY Spirit, art thou vanquisht… Is thy latest prospect gone? Must my task be thus relinquisht Ere my noble end is won? Must I die, and be remember’d
I NEVER said my verse you’d moc… Nor how you’d giggled at my gramma… You, on whom Fame her door has lo… I little mark’d your empty clamour… I merely said that when you’d call…
WHY thus mourn o’er star-hopes fa… They are only from thy ken, By a passing vapour shaded, And will soon appear again: Would thou prove a moral warrior,
SECURE within his citadel, my h… A roystering King, has quaft his… At pleasure’s sparkling fount,—has… Has hugg’d the phantom of delight—… Not dreaming from his sleep he’d e…