#EnglishWriters #RhymedStanza #Victorian
Our enemies have fall’n, have fall… The little seed they laugh’d at in… Has risen and cleft the soil, and… Of spanless girth, that lays on ev… A thousand arms and rushes to the…
Deep on the convent-roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon: My breath to heaven like vapour go… May my soul follow soon! The shadows of the convent-towers
A storm was coming, but the winds… And in the wild woods of Brocelia… Before an oak, so hollow, huge and… It looked a tower of ivied masonwo… At Merlin’s feet the wily Vivien…
I wage not any feud with Death For changes wrought on form and fa… No lower life that earth’s embrace May breed with him, can fright my… Eternal process moving on,
O Sorrow, cruel fellowship, O Priestess in the vaults of Deat… O sweet and bitter in a breath, What whispers from thy lying lip? “The stars,” she whispers, “blindl…
Fair is her cottage in its place, Where yon broad water sweetly slow… It sees itself from thatch to base Dream in the sliding tides. And fairer she, but ah how soon to…
I send you here a sort of allegory… (For you will understand it) of a… A sinful soul possess’d of many gi… A spacious garden full of flowerin… A glorious Devil, large in heart…
What does little birdie say In her nest at peep of day? Let me fly, says little birdie, Mother, let me fly away. Birdie, rest a little longer,
Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in… Had made mock—knight of Arthur’s… At Camelot, high above the yellow… Danced like a wither’d leaf before… And toward him from the hall, with…
When the breeze of a joyful dawn b… In the silken sail of infancy, The tide of time flow’d back with… The forward—flowing tide of time; And many a sheeny summer—morn,
By night we linger’d on the lawn, For underfoot the herb was dry; And genial warmth; and o’er the sk… The silvery haze of summer drawn; And calm that let the tapers burn
IT was the time when lilies blow, And clouds are highest up in air, Lord Ronald brought a lily-white… To give his cousin, Lady Clare. I trow they did not part in scorn–
Old warder of these buried bones, And answering now my random stroke With fruitful cloud and living smo… Dark yew, that graspest at the sto… And dippest toward the dreamless h…
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…
O beauty, passing beauty! Sweetes… How can thou let me waste my youth… I only ask to sit beside thy feet. Thou knowest I dare not look into… Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare…