#Decadents #English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Find me out a fortress, find Such a mind within the mind As can gather to its source All of life’s inveterate force, Find the hard and secret cell
Never were towers so fair, so bold… Passionately springing, arrogant t… Nor air so blue over roofs so old, Nor on ancient walls so rare a gol… When I found my love among the fl…
How dark, how quiet sleeps the val… In the dim farms, look, not a wind… Distantly heard among the lonely p… How soft the languid autumn breeze… Past me, and kiss my hair, and che…
O there are wanderers over wave an… Invisible and secret, everywhere Moving thro’ light and night from… Swifter than bird or cloud upon th… Wild Longings, from divided bosom…
Spiritual colour in dimness angel—… The very Light made flesh! It is… Blood throbbed and blanched and fi… Of thought within the veins, or ec… Live in one still drop. What leaf…
On greenest grass the lace of ligh… Beneath the shadowing tree Trembles, as when eyes more than l… Are smiling silently. Its motion all but motionless
Grief is like a child, Led with relentless hand By a strange nurse, whose face Seems never to have smiled, Whose onward gaze severe
Yet when the challenge rang, ‘ The War-Lord comes ; give room!… Fearless to arms you sprang Against the odds of doom. Like your own Damian
O that I had a tongue, that could… Half of that peace thou ownest, da… A slumber, shaded with the heavine… That droops thy leaves, hangs deep… Far off, the evening light
By the warm road—side, where chest… The brightness shaded, supine, at… A felon, freed that morn, Lay idle, and wondered, gazing up… O strange no more to be one of a b…
Gaunt on the cloudy plain Stand the great Stones, Dwarfed in the vast reach Of a sky that owns All the measure of earth
Past is the past! But no, it is n… In us, in us, it quickens, wants,… And on our hearts the unknown dead… The hunger and the thirst of their… Unknown the pangs, the peace we to…
The dripping of the boughs in sile… Softly; the low note of some linge… Amid the weeping vapour; the chill… Of solitary evening upon all That stirs and hopes and apprehend…
Tremulous out of that long darknes… Wast thou, O blossom, made Upon the wintry bough? What drew thee to appear, Like a thought in the mind,
Ask me not, Dear, what thing it i… That makes me love you so; What graces, what sweet qualities, That from your spirit flow: For I have but this old reply,