#EnglishWriters #Victorian
MY father left a park to me, But it is wild and barren, A garden too with scarce a tree, And waster than a warren: Yet say the neighbours when they c…
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,
The wish, that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave, Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife…
My dream had never died or lived a… As in some mystic middle state I… Seeing I saw not, hearing not I h… Though, if I saw not, yet they to… So often that I speak as having s…
To—night the winds begin to rise And roar from yonder dropping day: The last red leaf is whirl’d away, The rooks are blown about the skie… The forest crack’d, the waters cur…
First pledge our Queen this solem… Then drink to England, every gues… That man’s the best Cosmopolite Who loves his native country best. May freedom’s oak for ever live
WARRIOR of God, man’s friend,… Now somewhere dead far in the wast… Thou livest in all hearts, for all… This earth has never borne a noble…
Who would be A mermaid fair, Singing alone, Combing her hair Under the sea,
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,
So was their sanctuary violated, So their fair college turned to ho… At first with all confusion: by a… Sweet order lived again with other… A kindlier influence reigned; and…
Once more the gate behind me falls… Once more before my face I see the moulder’d Abbey-walls, That stand within the chace. Beyond the lodge the city lies,
With one black shadow at its feet, The house thro’ all the level shin… Close—latticed to the brooding hea… And silent in its dusty vines: A faint—blue ridge upon the right,
Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in… Little flower-but if I could unde… What you are, root and all, all in…
PART I On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the… And thro’ the field the road runs…