#EnglishWriters #Victorian
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…
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…
Here meet together the prefiguring… And day prefigured. “Eating, thou… Feet shod, loins girt, thy road—st… With blood—stained door and lintel… By Moses’ mouth in ages passed aw…
Beauty like hers is genius. Not t… Of Homer’s or of Dante’s heart su… Not Michael’s hand furrowing the… Is more with compassed mysteries m… Nay, not in Spring’s or Summer’s…
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,
The day is dark and the night To him that would search their hea… No lips of cloud that will part Nor morning song in the light: Only, gazing alone,
AMBITION, Cupidité, Et délicieuse Volupté, Sont les sœurs de la Destinée Après la vingt—première année.
We are upon the Scheldt. We know… Because there is a floating at our… Whatso they seek; and because all… Which on our outset were distinct… Are smaller and much weaker and qu…
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…
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…
To all the spirits of Love that w… Along his love—sown harvest—field… My lady lies apparent; and the dee… Calls to the deep; and no man sees… The bliss so long afar, at length…
IN grappled ships around The Vic… Three boys did England’s Duty wit… While one dread truth was kept fro… More dire than deafening fire that… For in the flag—ship’s weltering c…
“'TWAS thus, thus is, and thus s… The Beautiful—the Good— Still mirror to the Human Soul Its own intensitude!”
On this sweet bank your head thric… I lay, and spread your hair on eit… And see the newborn wood flowers b… Look through the golden tresses he… On these debateable borders of the…
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!
