#EnglishWriters #FemaleWriters #VictorianWriters
Hope is like a harebell trembling… Love is like a rose the joy of all… Faith is like a lily lifted high a… Love is like a lovely rose the wor… Harebells and sweet lilies show a…
Ten years ago it seemed impossible That she should ever grow so calm… With self—remembrance in her warme… And dim dried eyes like an exhaust… Slow—speaking when she had some fa…
Hear now a curious dream I dreame… Each word whereof is weighed and s… I stood beside Euphrates while it… Like overflowing Jordan in its yo… It waxed and coloured sensibly to…
We lack, yet cannot fix upon the l… Not this, nor that; yet somewhat,… We see the things we do not yearn… Around us: and what see we glancin… Lost hopes that leave our hearts u…
O Lady Moon, your horns point tow… Shine, be increased; O Lady Moon, your horns point tow… Wane, be at rest.
Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you: But when the leaves hang trembling… The wind is passing through. Who has seen the wind?
A song in a cornfield Where corn begins to fall, Where reapers are reaping, Reaping one, reaping all. Sing pretty Lettice,
Mix a pancake, Stir a pancake, Pop it in the pan; Fry the pancake, Toss the pancake, —
A white hen sitting On white eggs three: Next, three speckled chickens As plump as plump can be. An owl, and a hawk,
A pin has a head, but has no hair; A clock has a face, but no mouth t… Needles have eyes, but they cannot… A fly has a trunk without lock or… A timepiece may lose, but cannot w…
Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, love divine; Love was born at Christmas, Star and angels gave the sign. Worship we the Godhead,
Winter is cold—hearted Spring is yea and nay, Autumn is a weather—cock Blown every way: Summer days for me
Roses blushing red and white, For delight; Honeysuckle wreaths above, For love; Dim sweet—scented heliotrope,
I never said I loved you, John: Why will you tease me day by day, And wax a weariness to think upon With always “do” and “pray”? You Know I never loved you, John…
Consider The lilies of the field whose bloo… We are as they; Like them we fade away, As doth a leaf.