#EnglishWriters #RhymedStanza #Victorian
Is it, then, regret for buried tim… That keenlier in sweet April wake… And meets the year, and gives and… The colours of the crescent prime? Not all: the songs, the stirring a…
That story which the bold Sir Bed… First made and latest left of all… Told, when the man was no more tha… In the white winter of his age, to… With whom he dwelt, new faces, oth…
Come down, O maid, from yonder mo… What pleasure lives in height (the… In height and cold, the splendour… But cease to move so near the Hea… To glide a sunbeam by the blasted…
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now… Nor waves the cypress in the palac… Nor winks the gold fin in the porp… The firefly wakens, waken thou wit… Now droops the milk-white peacock…
King Arthur made new knights to f… Left by the Holy Quest; and as he… In hall at old Caerleon, the high… Were softly sundered, and through… Pelleas, and the sweet smell of th…
Ask me no more: the moon may draw… The cloud may stoop from heaven an… With fold to fold, of mountain or… But O too fond, when have I answe… Ask me no more.
O you chorus of indolent reviewers… Irresponsible, indolent reviewers, Look, I come to the test, a tiny… All composed in a metre of Catull… All in quantity, careful of my mot…
Light, so low upon earth, You send a flash to the sun. Here is the golden close of love, All my wooing is done. Oh, all the woods and the meadows,
Dark house, by which once more I… Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to… So quickly, waiting for a hand, A hand that can be clasp’d no more…
O mighty—mouth’d inventor of harmo… O skill’d to sing of Time or Eter… God—gifted organ—voice of England… Milton, a name to resound for ages… Whose Titan angels, Gabriel, Abd…
Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fir… Ilion falling, Rome arising, wars, and filial faith, and Dido’s… Landscape—lover, lord of language
O maiden, fresher than the first g… With which the fearful springtide… Weep not, Almeida, that I said to… That thou hast half my heart, for… Doth hold the other half in sovran…
All Things will Die Clearly the blue river chimes in i… Under my eye; Warmly and broadly the south winds… Over the sky.
“So careful of the type?” but no. From scarped cliff and quarried st… She cries, “A thousand types are… I care for nothing, all shall go. ”Thou makest thine appeal to me:
From noiseful arms, and acts of pr… In tournament or tilt, Sir Perciv… Whom Arthur and his knighthood ca… Had passed into the silent life of… Praise, fast, and alms; and leavin…