#English #Victorians #Women #XIXCentury
I nursed it in my bosom while it l… I hid it in my heart when it was d… In joy I sat alone, even so I gri… Alone and nothing said. I shut the door to face the naked…
Lie a—bed, Sleepy head, Shut up eyes, bo—peep; Till daybreak Never wake: —
In the meadow —what in the meadow? Bluebells, buttercups, meadowsweet… And fairy rings for the children’s… In the meadow. In the garden —what in the garden?
Rosy maiden Winifred, With a milkpail on her head, Tripping through the corn, While the dew lies on the wheat In the sunny morn.
One face looks out from all his ca… One selfsame figure sits or walks… We found her hidden just behind th… That mirror gave back all her love… A queen in opal or in ruby dress,
She stares the livelong day; Her wig of gold is stiff and cold And cannot change to grey.
Love me —I love you, Love me, my baby; Sing it high, sing it low, Sing it as may be. Mother’s arms under you,
‘Kookoorookoo! kookoorookoo!’ Crows the cock before the morn; ‘Kikirikee! kikirikee!’ Roses in the east are born. ‘Kookoorookoo! kookoorookoo!’
Mavel of marvels, if I myself sha… With mine own eyes my King in His… Where the least of lambs is spotle… Where the least and last of saints… Where the dimmest head beyond a mo…
THE irresponsive silence of the l… The irresponsive sounding of the s… Speak both one message of one sens… Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so s… Thou too aloof, bound with the fla…
Ah! changed and cold, how changed… With stiffened smiling lips and co… Changed, yet the same; much knowin… This was the promise of the days o… Grown hard and stubborn in the anc…
The splendour of the kindling day, The splendor of the setting sun, These move my soul to wend its way… And have done With all we grasp and toil amongst…
The earth was green, the sky was b… I saw and heard one sunny morn, A skylark hang between the two, A singing speck above the corn; A stage below, in gay accord,
A city plum is not a plum; A dumb—bell is no bell, though dum… A party rat is not a rat; A sailor’s cat is not a cat; A soldier’s frog is not a frog;
I am pale with sick desire, For my heart is far away From this world’s fitful fire And this world’s waning day; In a dream it overleaps