#EnglishWriters #Victorian
Why, Sir, the enemy advanced: Balls flew about, and—who can say But one, if I stood firm, had gla… In my direction? Cowardice? I only know we don’t live twice,
Crescenzio, the Pope’s Legate at… —Year Fifteen hundred twenty-two,… On writing letters to the Pope ti… Rose, weary, to refresh himself, a… (I give mine Author’s very words:…
HEAP cassia, sandal-buds and str… Of labdanum, and aloe-balls, Smear’d with dull nard an Indian… From out her hair: such balsam… Down sea-side mountain pedestal…
HOW very hard it is to be A Christian! Hard for you and me, —Not the mere task of making real That duty up to its ideal, Effecting thus complete and whole,
I know there shall dawn a day —Is it here on homely earth? Is it yonder, worlds away, Where the strange and new have bir… That Power comes full in play?
['Will sprawl, now that the heat o… Flat on his belly in the pit’s muc… With elbows wide, fists clenched t… And, while he kicks both feet in t… And feels about his spine small ef…
There’s a palace in Florence, the… And a statue watches it from the s… And this story of both do our town… Ages ago, a lady there, At the farthest window facing the…
All I can say is—I saw it! The room was as bare as your hand. I locked in the swarth little lady… From the head to the foot of her—w… ‘No Nautch shall cheat me,’ said…
Let us begin and carry up this cor… Singing together. Leave we the common crofts, the vu… Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the…
My father was a scholar and knew… When I was five years old, I aske… “What do you read about?” “The siege of Troy.” “What is a siege, and what is Tro…
My first thought was, he lied in e… That hoary cripple, with malicious… Askance to watch the workings of h… On mine, and mouth scarce able to… Suppression of the glee, that purs…
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! Rescue my Castle, before the hot… Brightens the blue from its silver… (Chorus) “Boot, saddle, to horse,… Ride past the suburbs, asleep as y…
TO E.B.B. There they are, my fifty men and w… Naming me the fifty poems finished… Take them, Love, the book and me… Where the heart lies, let the brai…
. This is a spray the Bird clung to… Making it blossom with pleasure, Ere the high tree-top she sprang t… Fit for her nest and her treasure.
Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity… Draw round my bed: is Anselm keep… Nephews—sons mine . . . ah God, I… She, men would have to be your mot… Old Gandolf envied me, so fair sh…
