#English #Victorians #Women #XIXCentury
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.
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,
My sun has set, I dwell In darkness as a dead man out of s… And none remains, not one, that I… To him mine evil plight This bitter night.
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…
I will tell you when they met: In the limpid days of Spring; Elder boughs were budding yet, Oaken boughs looked wintry still, But primrose and veined violet
On the wind of January Down flits the snow, Travelling from the frozen North As cold as it can blow. Poor robin redbreast,
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…
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
I sat beneath a willow tree, Where water falls and calls; While fancies upon fancies solaced… Some true, and some were false. Who set their heart upon a hope
Crimson curtains round my mother’s… Silken soft as may be; Cool white curtains round about my… For I am but a baby.
Is the moon tired? she looks so pa… Within her misty veil: She scales the sky from east to we… And takes no rest. Before the coming of the night
On the grassy banks Lambkins at their pranks; Woolly sisters, woolly brothers Jumping off their feet While their woolly mothers
Am I a stone, and not a sheep, That I can stand, O Christ, bene… To number drop by drop Thy Blood’… And yet not weep? Not so those women loved
All the bells were ringing And all the birds were singing, When Molly sat down crying For her broken doll: O you silly Moll!
The hope I dreamed of was a dream… Was but a dream; and now I wake, Exceeding comfortless, and worn, a… For a dream’s sake. I hang my harp upon a tree,