#English #Victorians #Women #XIXCentury
There is nothing more that they ca… For all their rage and boast; Caiaphas with his blaspheming crew… Herod with his host, Pontius Pilate in his Judgement—h…
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…
Currants on a bush, And figs upon a stem, And cherries on a bending bough, And Ned to gather them.
A house of cards Is neat and small: Shake the table, It must fall. Find the Court cards
If hope grew on a bush, And joy grew on a tree, What a nosegay for the plucking There would be! But oh! in windy autumn,
I wish I could remember that firs… First hour, first moment of your m… If bright or dim the season, it mi… Summer or Winter for aught I can… So unrecorded did it slip away,
A blue—eyed phantom far before Is laughing, leaping toward the su… Like lead I chase it evermore, I pant and run. It breaks the sunlight bound on bo…
The summer nights are short Where northern days are long: For hours and hours lark after lar… Trills out his song. The summer days are short
Blind from my birth, Where flowers are springing I sit on earth All dark. Hark! hark!
Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet,
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…
Oh the rose of keenest thorn! One hidden summer morn Under the rose I was born. I do not guess his name Who wrought my Mother’s shame,
The city mouse lives in a house; — The garden mouse lives in a bower, He’s friendly with the frogs and t… And sees the pretty plants in flow… The city mouse eats bread and chee…
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…
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,
