#EnglishWriters #Imagery #RhymedStanza #Victorian Aubade
Oh, good gigantic smile o’ the bro… This autumn morning! How he sets… To bask i’ the sun, and thrusts ou… For the ripple to run over in its… Listening the while, where on the…
I’ve a Friend, over the sea; I like him, but he loves me. It all grew out of the books I wr… They find such favour in his sight That he slaughters you with savage…
He sings_. I send my heart up to thee, all my… In this my singing. For the stars help me, and the sea… The very night is clinging
I chanced upon a new book yesterda… I opened it, and, where my finger… 'Twixt page and uncut page, these… Some six or seven at most - and le… That you, Fitzgerald, whom by ear…
Now that I, tying thy glass mask… May gaze thro’ these faint smokes… As thou pliest thy trade in this d… Which is the poison to poison her,… He is with her, and they know that…
A. You blame me that I ran away? Why, Sir, the enemy advanced: Balls flew about, and—who can say But one, if I stood firm, had gla… In my direction? Cowardice?
All’s over, then: does truth sound… As one at first believes? Hark, 'tis the sparrows’ good-nigh… About your cottage eaves! II.
I wonder do you feel to—day As I have felt since, hand in han… We sat down on the grass, to stray In spirit better through the land, This morn of Rome and May?
What, he on whom our voices unanim… Made Pope at our last Conclave?… His father earned the daily bread… So much the more his boy minds boo… Becomes first Deacon, and then Pr…
Had I but plenty of money, money… The house for me, no doubt, were a… Ah, such a life, such a life, as o… Something to see, by Bacchus, som… There, the whole day long, one’s l…
Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the fi… Our times are in His hand Who saith “A whole I planned,
All I believed is true! I am able yet All I want, to get By a method as strange as new: Dare I trust the same to you?
Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern si… A pleasanter spot you never spied;
All’s over, then: does truth sound… As one at first believes? Hark, ’tis the sparrows’ good-nigh… About your cottage eaves! And the leaf-buds on the vine are…
(_Prologue to ‘The Two Poets of… Such a starved bank of moss Till, that May-morn, Blue ran the flash across: Violets were born!