#English #Victorians #Women #XIXCentury
The lily has a smooth stalk, Will never hurt your hand; But the rose upon her briar Is lady of the land. There’s sweetness in an apple tree…
Why did baby die, Making Father sigh, Mother cry? Flowers, that bloom to die, Make no reply
Passing away, saith the World, pa… Chances, beauty and youth, sapp’d… Thy life never continueth in one s… Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark… That hath won neither laurel nor b…
If the sun could tell us half That he hears and sees, Sometimes he would make us laugh, Sometimes make us cry: Think of all the birds that make
“Sweet, thou art pale.” “More pale to see, Christ hung upon the cruel tree And bore His Father’s wrath for m… “Sweet, thou art sad.”
She gave up beauty in her tender y… Gave all her hope and joy and plea… She covered up her eyes lest they… On vanity, and chose the bitter tr… Harsh towards herself, towards oth…
I plucked pink blossoms from mine… And wore them all that evening in… Then in due season when I went to… I found no apples there. With dangling basket all along the…
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…
‘There’s a footstep coming: look o… ‘The leaves are falling, the wind… No one cometh across the lea.’— ‘There’s a footstep coming: O sis… ‘The ripple flashes, the white foa…
Heartsease in my garden bed, With sweetwilliam white and red, Honeysuckle on my wall: — Heartsease blossoms in my heart When sweet William comes to call,
Wee wee husband, Give me some money, I have no comfits, And I have no honey. Wee wee wifie,
‘A cup for hope!’ she said, In springtime ere the bloom was ol… The crimson wine was poor and cold By her mouth’s richer red. ‘A cup for love!’ how low,
A fool I was to sleep at noon, And wake when night is chilly Beneath the comfortless cold moon; A fool to pluck my rose too soon, A fool to snap my lily.
I know a baby, such a baby, — Round blue eyes and cheeks of pink… Such an elbow furrowed with dimple… Such a wrist where creases sink. ‘Cuddle and love me, cuddle and lo…
Underneath the growing grass, Underneath the living flowers, Deeper than the sound of showers: There we shall not count the hours By the shadows as they pass.