#English #XIXCentury
Along the Woodford road there com… Of wheels, and Mr. Rounding’s nea… Struggles along, drawn by a pair o… With Reverend Mr. Crow and six s… Who ever and anon declare their jo…
Let us make a leap, my dear, In our love, of many a year, And date it very far away, On a bright clear summer day, When the heart was like a sun
Giver of glowing light! Though but a god of other days, The kings and sages Of wiser ages Still live and gladden in thy geni…
I saw old Autumn in the misty mor… Stand shadowless like Silence, li… To silence, for no lonely bird wou… Into his hollow ear from woods for… Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn…
It is not death, that sometime in… This eloquent breath shall take it… That sometime these bright stars,… In sunlight to the sun, shall set… That this warm conscious flesh sha…
The lady lay in her bed, Her couch so warm and soft, But her sleep was restless and bro… For turning often and oft From side to side, she mutter’d an…
Author of The Cook’s Oracle, Observations… and The Pleasure of Making a Will. ‘I rule the roast, as Milton says…
Tim Turpin he was gravel-blind, And ne’er had seen the skies: For Nature, when his head was mad… Forgot to dot his eyes. So, like a Christmas pedagogue,
The curse of Adam, the old curse… Though I inherit in this feverish… Of worldly toil, vain wishes, and… And fruitless thought, in Care’s… Yet more sweet honey than of bitte…
Young ardent soul, graced with fai… Spring warmth of heart, and ferven… And still a large late love of all… Spite of the world’s cold practice… For all these gifts, I know not,…
Thou happy, happy elf! (But stop,—first let me kiss away… Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he’s poking peas into hi… Thou merry, laughing sprite!
Oh, very gloomy is the house of wo… Where tears are falling while the… With all the dark solemnities that… That Death is in the dwelling! Oh, very, very dreary is the room
I saw pale Dian, sitting by the b… Of silver falls, the overflow of f… From cloudy steeps; and I grew sa… Endymion’s foot was silent on thos… And he but a hush’d name, that Si…
The Song of the Shirt With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread—
Love thy mother, little one! Kiss and clasp her neck again,— Hereafter she may have a son Will kiss and clasp her neck in va… Love thy mother, little one!