#EnglishWriters #Victorian
O mighty-mouth’d inventor of harmo… O skill’d to sing of Time or Eter… God-gifted organ-voice of England… Milton, a name to resound for ages… Whose Titan angels, Gabriel, Abd…
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…
The brave Geraint, a knight of Ar… A tributary prince of Devon, one Of that great Order of the Table… Had married Enid, Yniol’s only ch… And loved her, as he loved the lig…
Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flow… Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted…
Dark house, by which once more I… Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to… So quickly, waiting for a hand, A hand that can be clasp’d no more…
(For Music) What sight so lured him thro’ the… As where earth’s green stole into… Far-far-away? What sound was dearest in his nati…
With blackest moss the flower-plot… Were thickly crusted, one and all: The rusted nails fell from the kno… That held the pear to the gable-wa… The broken sheds look’d sad and st…
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…
Late, late, so late! and dark the… Late, late, so late! but we can en… Too late, too late! ye cannot ente… No light had we: for that we do re… And learning this, the bridegroom…
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
Tears, idle tears, I know not wha… Tears from the depth of some divin… Rise in the heart, and gather to t… In looking on the happy Autumn-fi… And thinking of the days that are…
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
What time the mighty moon was gath… Loved paced the thymy plots of Pa… And all about him rol’d his lustro… When, turning round a cassia, full… Death, walking all alone beneath a…
All Things will Die Clearly the blue river chimes in i… Under my eye; Warmly and broadly the south winds… Over the sky.
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.