#EnglishWriters #Victorian
One writes, that “Other friends r… That “Loss is common to the race”… And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for gr… That loss is common would not make
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
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…
You say, but with no touch of scor… Sweet—hearted, you, whose light—bl… Are tender over drowning flies, You tell me, doubt is Devil—born. I know not: one indeed I knew
So all day long the noise of battl… Among the mountains by the winter… Until King Arthur’s table, man by… Had fallen in Lyonnesse about the… King Arthur: then, because his wo…
Thy voice is heard thro’ rolling d… That beat to battle where he stand… Thy face across his fancy comes, And gives the battle to his hands: A moment, while the trumpets blow,
How fares it with the happy dead? For here the man is more and more; But he forgets the days before God shut the doorways of his head. The days have vanish’d, tone and t…
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,
You say, but with no touch of scor… Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-bl… Are tender over drowning flies, You tell me, doubt is Devil-born. I know not: one indeed I knew
THE splendour falls on castle wal… And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the l… And the wild cataract leaps in glo… Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild ec…
Sir Walter Vivian all a summer’s… Gave his broad lawns until the set… Up to the people: thither flocked… His tenants, wife and child, and t… The neighbouring borough with thei…
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…
Calm is the morn without a sound, Calm as to suit a calmer grief, And only thro’ the faded leaf The chestnut pattering to the grou… Calm and deep peace on this high w…
'There sinks the nebulous star we… If that hypothesis of theirs be so… Said Ida; ‘let us down and rest;’… Down from the lean and wrinkled pr… By every coppice-feathered chasm a…
WHEN the breeze of a joyful dawn… 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,