#EnglishWriters #Victorian
Tell me now in what hidden way is Lady Flora the lovely Roman? Where’s Hipparchia, and where is… Neither of them the fairer woman? Where is Echo, beheld of no man,
A REMOTE sky, prolonged to the… One rock—point standing buffeted a… Vexed at its base with a foul beas… Hell—birth of geomaunt and teraphi… A knight, and a winged creature be…
When do I see thee most, beloved… When in the light the spirits of m… Before thy face, their altar, sole… The worship of that Love through… Or when in the dusk hours, (we two…
Upon a Flemish road, when noon wa… I passed a little consecrated shri… Where, among simple pictures range… The blessed Mary holds her child… To kneel here, shepherd—maidens le…
Her lute hangs shadowed in the app… While flashing fingers weave the s… Between its chords; and as the wil… The sea—bird for those branches le… But to what sound her listening ea…
‘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…
On this sweet bank your head thric… I lay, and spread your hair on eit… And see the newborn woodflowers ba… Look through the golden tresses he… On these debateable borders of the…
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…
The gloom that breathes upon me wi… Is like the drops which strike the… Who knows not, darkling, if they b… Fresh storm, or be old rain the co… Ah! bodes this hour some harvest o…
Sometimes thou seem’st not as thys… But as the meaning of all things t… A breathless wonder, shadowing for… Some heavenly solstice hushed and… Whose unstirred lips are music’s v…
This word had Merlin said from of… That out of the Oak Tree Shade In the day of France’s direst dul… God’s hand should send a Maid. And where Domremy, by Burgundy,
As when two men have loved a woman… Each hating each, through Love’s… Since not for either this stark ma… And the long pauses of this weddin… Yet o’er her grave the night and d…
A constant keeping—past of shaken… And a bewildered glitter of loose… Banks of bright growth, with singl… Against white sky; and wires—a con… That seem to draw the clouds along…
YESTERDAY was St. Valentine. Thought you at all, dear dove divi… Upon the beard in sorry trim And rueful countenance of him, That Orson who’s your Valentine?
LO the twelfth year—the wedding—f… With years for months—and lo the b… Out of the womb’s rank furnace cas… And with contagious effluence seam… To hail this birth, what fiery ton…