#English #Victorians
Between the hands, between the bro… Between the lips of Love—Lily, A spirit is born whose birth endow… My blood with fire to burn through… Who breathes upon my gazing eyes,
SHE knew it not:—most perfect pai… To learn: this too she knew not.… For me, calm hers, as from the fir… 'Twas but another bubble burst Upon the curdling draught of life,…
“Who rules these lands?” the Pilg… “Stranger, Queen Blanchelys.” “And who has thus harried them?” h… “It was Duke Luke did this: God’s ban be his!”
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…
Under the arch of Life, where lov… Terror and mystery, guard her shri… Beauty enthroned; and though her g… I drew it in as simply as my breat… Hers are the eyes which, over and…
Of Adam’s first wife, Lilith, it… (The witch he loved before the gif… That, ere the snake’s, her sweet t… And her enchanted hair was the fir… And still she sits, young while th…
Think thou and act; to—morrow thou… Outstretch’d in the sun’s warmth u… Thou say’st: ‘Man’s measured path… Up all his years, steeply, with st… Man clomb until he touch’d the tru…
ONE scarce would think that we ca… Who used, in those first childish… With held breath through the under… Outside into the sun. Since this… Took me unto itself, the joy which…
Sometimes I fain would find in th… That I might love thee still in s… Yet how should our Lord Love curt… Thy perfect praise whom most he wo… Alas! he can but make my heart’s l…
As one who, groping in a narrow st… Hath a strong sound of bells upon… Which, being at a distance off, ap… Quite close to him because of the… So with this France. She stumbles…
That lamp thou fill’st in Eros’ n… O Hero, shall the Sestian augurs… To—morrow, and for drowned Leande… To Anteros its fireless lip shall… Aye, waft the unspoken vow: yet da…
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
This is her picture as she was: It seems a thing to wonder on, As though mine image in the glass Should tarry when myself am gone. I gaze until she seems to stir,—
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…
“Messieurs, le Dieu des peintres”… 'Twas Rubens, sculptured. A mean… Was the next thing we saw,—from va… His drivel. The museum: as we tro… Its steps, his bust held us at bay…
