#EnglishWriters #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…
Oh, yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final end of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of bl… That nothing walks with aimless fe…
Morn in the wake of the morning st… Came furrowing all the orient into… We rose, and each by other drest w… Descended to the court that lay th… In shadow, but the Muses’ heads w…
To-night ungather’d let us leave This laurel, let this holly stand: We live within the stranger’s land… And strangely falls our Christmas… Our father’s dust is left alone
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…
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…
Love is and was my Lord and King, And in his presence I attend To hear the tidings of my friend, Which every hour his couriers brin… Love is and was my King and Lord,
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…
Strong Son of God, immortal Love… Whom we, that have not seen thy fa… By faith, and faith alone, embrace… Believing where we cannot prove; Thine are these orbs of light and…
We move, the wheel must always mov… Nor always on the plain, And if we move to such a goal As wisdom hopes to gain, Then you that drive, and know your…
Flow down, cold rivulet, to the se… Thy tribute wave deliver: No more by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever. Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea…
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…
“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:
Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go,
Athelstan King, Lord among Earls, Bracelet-bestower and Baron of Barons, He with his brother,