#English #Victorians #Women #XIXCentury
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.
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
Hopping frog, hop here and be seen… I’ll not pelt you with stick or st… Your cap is laced and your coat is… Good bye, we’ll let each other alo… Plodding toad, plod here and be lo…
An emerald is as green as grass; A ruby red as blood; A sapphire shines as blue as heave… A flint lies in the mud. A diamond is a brilliant stone,
Frost—locked all the winter, Seeds, and roots, and stones of fr… What shall make their sap ascend That they may put forth shoots? Tips of tender green,
‘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,
The earth was green, the sky was b… I saw and heard one sunny morn A skylark hang betweent he two, A singing speck above the corn; A stage below, in gay accord,
It is over. What is over? Nay, now much is over truly!— Harvest days we toiled to sow for; Now the sheaves are gathered newly… Now the wheat is garnered duly.
Life is not sweet. One day it wil… To shut our eyes and die: Nor feel the wild flowers blow, no… With flitting butterfly, Nor grass grow long above our head…
‘Ferry me across the water, Do, boatman, do.’ ‘If you’ve a penny in your purse I’ll ferry you.’ ‘I have a penny in my purse,
In my Autumn garden I was fain To mourn among my scattered roses; Alas for that last rosebud which u… To Autumn’s languid sun and rain When all the world is on the wane!
I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart within me like a stone Is numb’d too much for hopes or fe… Look right, look left, I dwell al… I lift mine eyes, but dimm’d with…
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,
A toadstool comes up in a night, — Learn the lesson, little folk: — An oak grows on a hundred years, But then it is an oak.
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,
