#English #Victorians
What is the sorriest thing that en… None of the sins,—but this and tha… Which a soul’s sin at length could… These yet are virgins, whom death’… Might once have sainted; whom the…
DOUBT spake no word in me as the… Loathing, I could not praise: I c… God for the cup of evil that I dr… I dared not cry upon His strength… My soul from weapons it was bent t…
WAVING whispering trees, What do you say to the breeze And what says the breeze to you? ‘Mid passing souls ill at ease, Moving murmuring trees,
I WAITED for the train unto Ve… I hung with bonnes and gamins on t… Watching the gravelled road where,… Under black arches gleam the iron… Clear in the darkness, till the da…
Look in my face; my name is Might… I am also called 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…
Let no man ask thee of anything Not yearborn between Spring and S… More of all worlds than he can kno… Each day the single sun doth show. A trustier gloss than thou canst g…
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…
ENTER Skald, moored in a punt, And jacks and tenches exeunt.
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,
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…
Our Lombard country-girls along t… Wear daggers in their garters: for… That they might hate another girl… Or meet a German lover. Such a kn… I bought her, with a hilt of horn…
Watch thou and fear; to—morrow tho… Or art thou sure thou shalt have t… Is not the day which God’s word p… To come man knows not when? In yo… Now while we speak, the sun speeds…
To—day Death seems to me an infan… Which her worn mother Life upon m… Has set to grow my friend and play… If haply so my heart might be begu… To find no terrors in a face so mi…
“SORDELLO’S story,” the Sphin… “Who would has heard.” Is that en… 'Twere not amiss to add, has under… Who understood perhaps has profite… For my part I could tell a tale i…
In whomsoe’er, since Poesy began, A Poet most of all men we may sca… Burns of all poets is the most a…
