#English #Victorians #Women
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…
I sigh at day-dawn, and I sigh When the dull day is passing by. I sigh at evening, and again I sigh when night brings sleep to… Oh! it were far better to die
What do the stars do Up in the sky, Higher than the wind can blow, Or the clouds can fly? Each star in its own glory
I, a princess, king—descended, dec… Would rather be a peasant with her… For all I shine so like the sun,… Two and two my guards behind, two… Two and two on either hand, they g…
‘Oh whence do you come, my dear fr… With your golden hair all fallen b… And your face as white as snowdrop… And your voice as hollow as the ho… ‘From the other world I come back…
There is but one May in the year, And sometimes May is wet and cold… There is but one May in the year Before the year grows old. Yet though it be the chilliest Ma…
Oh roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime; But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time. Oh violets for the grave of youth,
In the bleak mid—winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Contemptuous of his home beyond The village and the village—pond, A large—souled Frog who spurned e… Hopped along the imperial highway. Nor grunting pig nor barking dog
Once in a dream I saw the flowers That bud and bloom in Paradise; More fair they are than waking eye… Have seen in all this world of our… And faint the perfume—bearing rose…
There’s snow on the fields, And cold in the cottage, While I sit in the chimney nook Supping hot pottage. My clothes are soft and warm,
When a mounting skylark sings In the sunlit summer morn, I know that heaven is up on high, And on earth are fields of corn. But when a nightingale sings
If stars dropped out of heaven, And if flowers took their place, The sky would still look very fair… And fair earth’s face. Winged angels might fly down to us
Oh the cheerful Budding—time! When thorn—hedges turn to green, When new leaves of elm and lime Cleave and shed their winter scree… Tender lambs are born and ‘baa,’
Lord Jesus, who would think that… Ah, who would think Who sees me ready to turn back or… That Thou art mine? I cannot hold Thee fast though Th…
