#English #Victorians
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…
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…
(In the Academy of Bruges) MYSTERY: God, man’s life, born… Of woman. There abideth on her br… The ended pang of knowledge, the w… Is calm assured. Since first her…
Not in thy body is thy life at all But in this lady’s lips and hands… Through these she yields thee life… What else were sorrow’s servant an… Look on thyself without her, and r…
Get thee behind me. Even as, heav… Stooping against the wind, a chari… Is snatched from out his chariot b… So shall Time be; and as the void… Abroad by reinless steeds, even so…
The gloom that breathes upon me wi… Is like the drops which stike the… Who knows not, darkling, if they b… Fresh storm, or be old rain the co… Ah! bodes this hour some harvest o…
Think thou and act; to—morrow thou… Outstretch’d in the sun’s warmth u… Thou say’st: “Man’s measur’d path… Up all his years, steeply, with st… Man clomb until he touch’d the tru…
WATER, for anguish of the solsti… But dip the vessel slowly,—nay, bu… And hark how at its verge the wave… Reluctant. Hush! beyond all depth… The heat lies silent at the brink…
So it is, my dear. All such things touch secret strin… For heavy hearts to hear. So it is, my dear. Very like indeed:
Great Michelangelo, with age grow… And uttermost labours, having once… All grievous memories on his long… This worst regret to one true hear… That when, with sorrowing love and…
What other woman could be loved li… Or how of you should love possess… After the fulness of all rapture,… As at the end of some deep avenue A tender glamour of day,—there com…
GETTING his pictures, like his… Far, far away in Belfast by the s… His watchful one—eyed uninvaded sl… MacCracken sleepeth. While the P… Must keep the shady side, he walks…
I said: “Nay, pluck not,—let the… Even as thou sayest, it is sweet a… But let it ripen still. The tree’… Sees in the stream its own fecundi… And bides the day of fulness. Sha…
Is Memory most of miseries misera… Or the one flower of ease in bitte…
EVEN as when utter summer makes… Bow heavily along through the whol… It seems to me whatever while I s… Where thou art standing; and upon… Thy presence weighs like a most aw…
