#English #Victorians #XIXCentury
Dip down upon the northern shore O sweet new-year delaying long; Thou doest expectant nature wrong; Delaying long, delay no more. What stays thee from the clouded n…
Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again, And howlest, issuing out of night, With blasts that blow the poplar w… And lash with storm the streaming… Day, when my crown’d estate begun
“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:
I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel; For words, like Nature, half reve… And half conceal the Soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and bra…
Strong Son of God, immortal Love… Whom we, that have not seen thy fa… By faith, and faith alone, embrace… Believing where we cannot prove; Thine are these orbs of light and…
Queen Guinevere had fled the cour… There in the holy house at Almesb… Weeping, none with her save a litt… A novice: one low light betwixt t… Blurred by the creeping mist, for…
Now fades the last long streak of… Now burgeons every maze of quick About the flowering squares, and t… By ashen roots the violets blow. Now rings the woodland loud and lo…
Deep on the convent—roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon: My breath to heaven like vapour go… May my soul follow soon! The shadows of the convent—towers
He thought to quell the stubborn h… Madman! to chain with chains, and… That island queen who sways the fl… From Ind to Ind, but in fair dayl… When from her wooden walls,—lit by…
‘Your ringlets, your ringlets, That look so golden-gay, If you will give me one, but one, To kiss it night and day, The never chilling touch of Time
Dip down upon the northern shore O sweet new—year delaying long; Thou doest expectant nature wrong; Delaying long, delay no more. What stays thee from the clouded n…
A still small voice spake unto me, “Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?” Then to the still small voice I s… “Let me not cast in endless shade
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…
Now, scarce three paces measured f… We stumbled on a stationary voice, And ‘Stand, who goes?’ 'Two from… ‘The second two: they wait,’ he s… His Highness wakes:’ and one, tha…
Leodogran, the King of Cameliard, Had one fair daughter, and none ot… And she was the fairest of all fle… Guinevere, and in her his one deli… For many a petty king ere Arthur…