#EnglishWriters #RhymedStanza #Victorian
Old Yew, which graspest at the st… That name the under-lying dead, Thy fibres net the dreamless head, Thy roots are wrapt about the bone… The seasons bring the flower again…
Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could… The thoughts that arise in me. O, well for the fisherman’s boy,
It is the miller’s daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles in her ear: For hid in ringlets day and night,
Old poets foster’d under friendlie… Old Virgil who would write ten li… At dawn, and lavish all the golden… To make them wealthier in the read… And you, old popular Horace, you…
The baby new to earth and sky, What time his tender palm is prest Against the circle of the breast, Has never thought that “this is I… But as he grows he gathers much,
There lies a vale in Ida, lovelie… Than all the valleys of Ionian hi… The swimming vapour slopes athwart… Puts forth an arm, and creeps from… And loiters, slowly drawn. On eit…
At break of day the College Portr… She brought us Academic silks, in… The lilac, with a silken hood to e… And zoned with gold; and now when… And we as rich as moths from dusk…
Gigantic daughter of the West, We drink to thee across the flood, We know thee most, we love thee be… For art thou not of British blood… Should war’s mad blast again be bl…
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…
In Love, if Love be Love, if Lov… Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equ… Unfaith in aught is want of faith… It is the little rift within the l… That by and by will make the music…
While about the shore of Mona tho… Burnt and broke the grove and alta… Far in the East Boadicea, standin… Mad and maddening all that heard h… Girt by half the tribes of Britai…
Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again, So loud with voices of the birds, So thick with lowings of the herds… Day, when I lost the flower of me… Who tremblest thro’ thy darkling r…
OLD FITZ, who from your suburb… Where once I tarried for a while, Glance at the wheeling orb of chan… And greet it with a kindly smile; Whom yet I see as there you sit
He rose at dawn and, fired with ho… Shot o’er the seething harbour-bar… And reach’d the ship and caught th… And whistled to the morning star. And while he whistled long and lou…
I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods: I envy not the beast that takes