#EnglishWriters #Victorian
Heaven weeps above the earth all n… In darkness weeps, as all ashamed… Because the earth hath made her st… With selfwrought evils of unnumber… And doth the fruit of her dishonou…
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…
Illyrian woodlands, echoing falls Of water, sheets of summer glass, The long divine Peneian pass, The vast Akrokeraunian walls, Tomohrit, Athos, all things fair,
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…
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…
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–
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…
Light, so low upon earth, You send a flash to the sun. Here is the golden close of love, All my wooing is done. Oh, all the woods and the meadows,
Written at the Request of the Man… Virgil’s Death Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fir… Ilion falling, Rome arising,
IN her ear he whispers gaily, 'If my heart by signs can tell, Maiden, I have watch’d thee daily… And I think thou lov’st me well.' She replies, in accents fainter,
Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again, And howlest, issuing out of night, With blasts that blow the poplar w… And lash with storm the streaming… Day, when my crown’d estate begun
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
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…
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…
Life and Thought have gone away Side by side, Leaving door and windows wide. Careless tenants they! All within is dark as night: