#EnglishWriters #Victorian
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,
And Willy, my eldest-born, is gon… Ruddy and white, and strong on his… And Willy’s wife has written: she… Never the wife for Willy: he woul… II.
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 Yew, which graspest at the st… That name the under-lying dead, Thy fibres net the dreamless head, Thy roots are wrapt about the bone… The seasons bring the flower again…
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…
Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my… To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou woul… There let the wind sweep and the p…
At break of day the College Portr… She brought us Academic silks, in… The lilac, with a silken hood to e… And zoned with gold; and now when… And we as rich as moths from dusk…
Dosn’t thou ‘ear my ’erse’s legs,… Proputty, proputty, proputty—that’… Proputty, proputty, proputty—Sam,… Theer’s moor sense i’ one o’ 'is l… Woä—theer’s a craw to pluck wi’ th…
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…
“Courage!” he said, and pointed to… “This mounting wave will roll us s… In the afternoon they came unto a… In which it seemed always afternoo… All round the coast the languid ai…
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
Dedication These to His Memory—since he held… Perchance as finding there unconsc… Some image of himself—I dedicate, I dedicate, I consecrate with tea…
Contemplate all this work of Time… The giant labouring in his youth; Nor dream of human love and truth, As dying Nature’s earth and lime; But trust that those we call the d…
When cats run home and light is co… And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round,
There is a sound of thunder afar, Storm in the south that darkens th… Storm of battle and thunder of war… Well, if it do not roll our way. Form! form! Riflemen form!