#EnglishWriters #Victorian
O leave your hand where it lies co… Upon the eyes whose lids are hot: Its rosy shade is bountiful Of silence, and assuages thought. O lay your lips against your hand
I never reared a young Wombat To glad me with his pin—hole eye, But when he most was sweet & fat And tail—less; he was sure to die!
By thine own tears thy song must t… O Singer! Magic mirror thou hast… Except thy manifest heart; and sav… Anguish or ardour, else no amulet. Cisterned in Pride, verse is the…
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…
HO ye that nothing have to lose!… Come from the sinks of the New Cu… Did ye not hear the mighty sound b… The Seven Dials strike the hour o… Ho cock your eyes, my gallant pals…
From child to youth; from youth to… From lethargy to fever of the hear… From faithful life to dream—dower’… From trust to doubt; from doubt to… Thus much of change in one swift c…
Mother, is this the darkness of th… The Shadow of Death? and is that… Infinite imminent Eternity? And does the death—pang by man’s s… In Time’s each instant cause thy…
“Sister,” said busy Amelotte To listless Aloÿse; “Along your wedding—road the wheat Bends as to hear your horse’s feet… And the noonday stands still for h…
Consider the sea’s listless chime: Time’s self it is, made audible,— The murmur of the earth’s own shel… Secret continuance sublime Is the sea’s end: our sight may pa…
What thing unto mine ear Wouldst thou convey,—what secret t… O wandering water ever whispering? Surely thy speech shall be of her. Thou water, O thou whispering wan…
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…
Christ sprang from David Shepherd… From David King, being born of hi… The Shepherd lays his crook, the… Here at Christ’s feet, and high a…
LOVE, I speak to your heart, Your heart that is always here. Oh draw me deep to its sphere, Though you and I are apart, And yield, by the spirit’s art,
The ark of the Lord of Hosts Whose name is called by the name o… Who dwelleth between the Cherubim… O Thou that in no house dost dwel… But walk’st in tent and tabernacle…
