#EnglishWriters #Victorian
Again at Christmas did we weave The holly round the Christmas hea… The silent snow possess’d the eart… And calmly fell our Christmas—eve… The yule—log sparkled keen with fr…
. There lies a vale in Ida, lovel… Than all the valleys of Ionian hi… The swimming vapour slopes athwart… Puts forth an arm, and creeps from… And loiters, slowly drawn. On eit…
The woods decay, the woods decay a… The vapours weep their burthen to… Man comes and tills the field and… And after many a summer dies the s… Me only cruel immortality
As thro’ the land at eve we went, And pluck’d the ripen’d ears, We fell out, my wife and I, O we fell out I know not why, And kiss’d again with tears.
Dark house, by which once more I… Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to… So quickly, waiting for a hand, A hand that can be clasp’d no more…
Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel, an… Turn thy wild wheel thro’ sunshine… Thy wheel and thee we neither love… Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel wit… With that wild wheel we go not up…
The wish, that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave, Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife…
Thy voice is heard thro’ rolling d… That beat to battle where he stand… Thy face across his fancy comes, And gives the battle to his hands: A moment, while the trumpets blow,
Comrades, leave me here a little,… Leave me here, and when you want m… ’T is the place, and all around it… Dreary gleams about the moorland f… Locksley Hall, that in the distan…
(For Music) What sight so lured him thro’ the… As where earth’s green stole into… Far-far-away? What sound was dearest in his nati…
Love is and was my Lord and King, And in his presence I attend To hear the tidings of my friend, Which every hour his couriers brin… Love is and was my King and Lord,
“So careful of the type?” but no. From scarped cliff and quarried st… She cries, “A thousand types are… I care for nothing, all shall go. ”Thou makest thine appeal to me:
Oh, yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final end of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of bl… That nothing walks with aimless fe…
I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods: I envy not the beast that takes
1. Is it the wind of the dawn that… in the pine overhead? 2. No; but the voice of the deep a… the cliffs of the land. 1. Is there a voice coming up with…