#EnglishWriters #Victorian
Young Love lies sleeping In May—time of the year, Among the lilies, Lapped in the tender light: White lambs come grazing,
Some prisoned moon in steep cloud—… Throned queen and thralled; some d… Blazed with momentous memorable fi… Who hath not yearned and fed his h… Who, sleepless, hath not anguished…
BETWEEN Holmscote and Hurstcot… The river—reaches wind, The whispering trees accept the br… The ripple’s cool and kind; With love low—whispered 'twixt the…
WEARY already, weary miles to—ni… I walked for bed: and so, to get s… I dogged the flying moon with simi… And like a wisp she doubled on my… In ponds; and caught in tree—tops…
I sat with Love upon a woodside w… Leaning across the water, I and h… Nor ever did he speak nor looked a… But touched his lute wherein was a… The certain secret thing he had to…
I DID not look upon her eyes, (Though scarcely seen, with no sur… 'Mid many eyes a single look,) Because they should not gaze rebuk… At night, from stars in sky and br…
“O WOODMAN, spare that block, Oh gash not anyhow! It took ten days by clock, I’d fain protect it now.” Chorus—Wild Laughter from Dalzie…
THE thoughts in me are very calm… That think upon your love: yet by… You shall not greatly marvel that… Or nightfall—yet scarce nightfall—… Leaves me thus sad. Now if you as…
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…
How sweet a solace is the bridal—b… Dawn as prepared, evening as hallo…
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…
So it is, my dear. All such things touch secret strin… For heavy hearts to hear. So it is, my dear. Very like indeed:
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,
HIS Soul fared forth (as from th… The father—songster plies the hour… To feed his soul—brood hungering i… But his warm Heart, the mother—bi… Their callow fledgling progeny sti…
IN this new shade of Death, the s… Passes me still of form and face; Some bent, some gazing as they go, Some swiftly, some at a dull pace, Not one that speaks in any case.