#English #Victorians
Behold Fiammetta, shown in Vision… Gloom—girt’ mid Spring—flushed ap… And as she sways the brances with… Along her arm the sundered bloom f… In separate petals shed, each like…
I stood where Love in brimming ar… Slight wanton flowers and foolish… And round him ladies thronged in w… Fingered and lipped and proffered… And from one hand the petal and th…
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…
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…
Sometimes she is a child within mi… Cowering beneath dark wings that l… With still tears showering and ave… Inexplicably fill’d with faint ala… And oft from mine own spirit’s hur…
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…
When vain desire at last and vain… Go hand in hand to death, and all… What shall assuage the unforgotten… And teach the unforgetful to forge… Shall Peace be still a sunk strea…
Like labour-laden moonclouds faint… From winds that sweep the winter—b… Like multiform circumfluence manif… Of night’s flood-tide,—like terror… Of hoarse-tongued fire and inartic…
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…
Strong extreme speed, that the bra… Further than trees, and hedges, an… Whitened by distance,—further than… Held among fields and gardens,—fur… Haystacks and windmill—sails and r…
THE head and hands of murdered C… Above his seat high in the Forum… Drew jeers and burning tears. Whe… Of a swift—mounted ladder, all agl… Fluvia, Mark Antony’s shameless w…
Thin are the night-skirts left beh… By daybreak hours that onward cree… And thin, alas! the shred of sleep That wavers with the spirit’s wind… But in half-dreams that shift and…
A Sonnet is a moment’s monument, Memorial from the Soul’s eternity To one dead deathless hour. Look… Whether for lustral rite or dire p… Of its own arduous fulness reveren…
(In the Louvre) SCARCELY, I think; yet it inde… The meaning reached him, when this… Clear through his frame, a sweet p… And he beheld these rocks and that…
She fell asleep on Christmas Eve: At length the long—ungranted shade Of weary eyelids overweigh’d The pain nought else might yet rel… Our mother, who had lean’d all day