#EnglishWriters #Victorian
‘TIS of the Father Hilary. He strove, but could not pray; so… The steep—coiled stair, where his… A sad blind echo. Ever up He toiled. ’Twas a sick sway of a…
“'TWAS thus, thus is, and thus s… The Beautiful—the Good— Still mirror to the Human Soul Its own intensitude!”
By none but me can the tale be tol… The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold… (Lands are swayed by a King on a… 'Twas a royal train put forth to s… Yet the tale can be told by none b…
Soft—littered is the new—year’s la… And in the hollowed haystack at it… The shepherd lies o’ night now, wa… At the ewes’ travailing call throu… The young rooks cheep 'mid the thi…
Woolner and Stephens, Collinson,… And my first brother, each and eve… What portion is theirs now beneath… Which, even as here, in England m… For most of them life runs not the…
I Catherine am a Douglas born, A name to all Scots dear; And Kate Barlass they’ve called m… Through many a waning year. This old arm’s withered now. ‘Twa…
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…
WITH Shakspeare’s manhood at a b… Through Hamlet’s doubt to Shakspe… And kin to Milton through his Sat… At Death’s sole door he stooped,… And to the dear new bower of Engl…
Oh! May sits crowned with hawthor… And is Love’s month, they say; And Love’s the fruit that is ripe… By ladies’ eyes in May.
The lilies stand before her like a… Through which, upon this warm and… God surely hears. For there she k… Who wafts our prayers to God—Mary… She was Faith’s Present, parting…
What smouldering senses in death’s… Or seizure of malign vicissitude Can rob this body of honour, or de… This soul of wedding—raiment worn… For lo! even now my lady’s lips di…
It is grey tingling azure overhead With silver drift. Beneath, where… The trees are reared, the distance… At peace: and on this side the who… For sowing and for harvest, subjec…
Look in my face; my name is Might… I am also call’d No—more, Too—lat… Unto thine ear I hold the dead—se… Cast up thy Life’s foam—fretted f… Unto thine eyes the glass where th…
HONEY—FLOWERS to the honey—c… And the honey—bee’s from home. A honey—comb and a honey—flower, And the bee shall have his hour. A honeyed heart for the honey—comb…
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…