#English #Victorians #Women
Three little children On the wide wide earth, Motherless children— Cared for from their birth By tender angels.
Young Love lies sleeping In May—time of the year, Among the lilies, Lapped in the tender light: White lambs come grazing,
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,
The first was like a dream through… The second like a tedious numbing… While the half—frozen pulses lagge… Beneath a winter moon. ‘But,’ says my friend, ‘what was t…
Downstairs I laugh, I sport and j… But in my solitary room above I turn my face in silence to the w… My heart is breaking for a little… Though winter frosts are done,
Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing; Where in the whitethorn
A night was near, a day was near, Between a day and night I heard sweet voices calling clear… Calling me: I heard a whirr of wing on wing,
I wonder if the sap is stirring ye… If wintry birds are dreaming of a… If frozen snowdrops feel as yet th… And crocus fires are kindling one… Sing, robin, sing;
Rosy maiden Winifred, With a milkpail on her head, Tripping through the corn, While the dew lies on the wheat In the sunny morn.
The curtains were half drawn, the… And strewn with rushes, rosemary a… Lay thick upon the bed on which I… Where through the lattice ivy—shad… He leaned above me, thinking that…
The horses of the sea Rear a foaming crest, But the horses of the land Serve us the best. The horses of the land
It is a land with neither night no… Nor heat nor cold, nor any wind, n… Nor hills nor valleys; but one eve… Stretches thro’ long unbroken mile… While thro’ the sluggish air a twi…
Thou who didst hang upon a barren… My God, for me; Though I till now be barren, now… Lord, give me strength To bring forth fruit to Thee.
Three plum buns To eat here at the stile In the clover meadow, For we have walked a mile. One for you, and one for me,
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
