#EnglishWriters #Victorian
Frowned the Laird on the Lord: “… Death-doomed by our Law of the Bo… We’ve a gallows outside and a chie… Who trespasses—hangs: all’s in ord… He met frown with smile, did the y…
Boot, saddle, to horse and away! Rescue my Castle, before the hot… Brightens to blue from its silvery… (Chorus) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
PREADMONISHETH THE A… The Lord, we look to once for all… Is the Lord we should look at, al… He knows not to vary, saith Saint… Nor the shadow of turning, for the…
Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent… Sunset ran, one glorious blood—red… Bluish 'mid the burning water, ful… In the dimmest North-East distanc… “Here and here did England help m…
Round the cape of a sudden came th… And the sun looked over the mounta… And straight was a path of gold fo… And the need of a world of men for…
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;
Christ God who savest man, save m… Of men Count Gismond who saved me… Count Gauthier, when he chose his… Chose time and place and company To suit it; when he struck at leng…
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,
OUT of the little chapel I burst Into the fresh night air again. I had waited a good five minutes f… In the doorway, to escape the rain That drove in gusts down the commo…
NO more wine? then we’ll push bac… A final glass for me, though: cool… We ought to have our Abbey back,… It’s different, preaching in basil… And doing duty in some masterpiece
She. Yet womanhood you reverence, So you profess! He. Wi… She. Of which fact this is eviden… To help Art-study,—for some dole
She should never have looked at me If she meant I should not love he… There are plenty... men, you call… I suppose... she may discover All her soul to, if she pleases,
OUT of your whole life give but a… All of your life that has gone bef… All to come after it,—so you ignor… So you make perfect the present,—c… In a rapture of rage, for perfecti…
To whom but you, dear Friend, should I dedicate verses—some few written, all of them supervised, in the comfort of your presence, and with yet another experience of the gracious hospita...
Grand rough old Martin Luther Bloomed fables-flowers on furze, The better the uncouther: Do roses stick like burrs? A beggar asked an alms