#EnglishWriters #Victorian
IN her deep bosom the pride settl… That pride which is a brackish thi… And the life in her pulses seemed… About her temples for an iron crow… She set stern patience. She did n…
O COOL unto the sense of pain That last night’s sleep could not… O warm unto the sense of joy, That dreams its life within the br… What though I lean o’er thee to s…
THAT voice I hear,—how heard I… Although my home is this, seems fr… There… still it trails along and m… Like the slow death of sound withi… Or like the humming whine in some…
Your hands lie open in the long fr… The finger—points look through lik… Your eyes smile peace. The pastur… ‘Neath billowing skies that scatte… All round our nest, far as the eye…
Dusk—haired and gold—robed o’er th… She stoops, wherein, distilled of… Sink the black drops; while, lit w… Round her spread board the golden… Doth Helios here with Hecate comb…
REND, rend thine hair, Cassandra… Yea, rend thy garments, wring thin… From Troy still towered to the un… See, all but she that bore thee mo… He most whom that fair woman arms,…
18th November 1852 “VICTORY!” So once more the cry must be. Duteous mourning we fulfil In God’s name; but by God’s will,
THE wounded hart and the dying sw… Were side by side Where the rushes coil with the tur… The hart and the swan. AS much as in a hundred years, sh…
The mother will not turn, who thin… Her nursling’s speech first grow a… But breathless with averted eyes e… She sits, with open lips and open… That it may call her twice. 'Mid…
ONE scarce would think that we ca… Who used, in those first childish… With held breath through the under… Outside into the sun. Since this… Took me unto itself, the joy which…
When first that horse, within whos… The birth was death, o’ershadowed… Her elders, dubious of its Grecia… Brought Helen there to sing the s… She whispered, “Friends, I am alo…
Could you not drink her gaze like… Yet though its splendour swoon Into the silence languidly As a tune into a tune, Those eyes unravel the coiled nigh…
DID she in summer write it, or in… Or with this wail of autumn at her… Or in some winter left among old y… Scratched it through tettered cark… That round her heart the frost was…
WHAT of the end, Pandora? Was i… The deed that set these fiery pini… Ah! wherefore did the Olympian co… In its own likeness make thee half… Was it that Juno’s brow might sta…
(In the Academy of Bruges) MYSTERY: God, man’s life, born… Of woman. There abideth on her br… The ended pang of knowledge, the w… Is calm assured. Since first her…
