#EnglishWriters #Victorian
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…
With trembling fingers did we weav… The holly round the Christmas hea… A rainy cloud possess’d the earth, And sadly fell our Christmas-eve. At our old pastimes in the hall
Comrades, leave me here a little,… Leave me here, and when you want m… ’T is the place, and all around it… Dreary gleams about the moorland f… Locksley Hall, that in the distan…
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,
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…
Ask me no more: the moon may draw… The cloud may stoop from heaven an… With fold to fold, of mountain or… But O too fond, when have I answe… Ask me no more.
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…
Hark! the dogs howl! the sleetwind… The church-clocks knoll: the hours… I leave the dreaming world below. Blown o’er frore heads of hills I… Long narrowing friths and stripes…
All along the valley, stream that… Deepening thy voice with the deepe… All along the valley, where thy wa… I walk’d with one I loved two and… All along the valley, while I wal…
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…
Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, Night, has flo… Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted…
MY good blade carves the casques… My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of… Because my heart is pure. The shattering trumpet shrilleth h…
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…
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…
You ask me, why, tho’ ill at ease, Within this region I subsist, Whose spirits falter in the mist, And languish for the purple seas. It is the land that freemen till,