#English #Victorians
Some candle clear burns somewhere… I muse at how its being puts bliss… With yellowy moisture mild night’s… Or to—fro tender trambeams truckle… By that window what task what fing…
The fine delight that fathers thou… Spur, live and lancing like the bl… Breathes once and, quenchèd faster… Leaves yet the mind a mother of im… Nine months she then, nay years, n…
To what serves mortal beauty ‘ —da… ing blood—the O—seal—that—so ’ fea… Than Purcell tune lets tread to?… Men’s wits to the things that are;… Master more may than gaze, ’ gaze…
Though no high—hung bells or din Of braggart bugles cry it in— What is sound? Nature’s round Makes the Silver Jubilee. Five and twenty years have run
Tom—garlanded with squat and surly… Tom; then Tom’s fallowbootfellow… By him and rips out rockfire homef… Tom Heart—at—ease, Tom Navvy: he… Sure, ’s bed now. Low be it: lust…
. . . . . . . . Hope holds to Christ the mind’s o… To take His lovely likeness more… It will not well, so she would bri… An ever brighter burnish than befo…
The best ideal is the true And other truth is none. All glory be ascribèd to The holy Three in One.
Beyond Mágdalen and by the Bridge… In Summer, in a burst of summerti… Following falls and falls of rain, When the air was sweet—and—sour of… Those goldnails and their gaylinks…
I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and… And a few lilies blow. And I have asked to be
Look at the stars! look, look up a… O look at all the fire—folk sittin… The bright boroughs, the circle—ci… Down in dim woods the diamond delv… The grey lawns cold where gold, wh…
A buglar boy from barrack (it is o… There)—boy bugler, born, he tells… Mother to an English sire (he Shares their best gifts surely, fa… This very very day came down to us…
Margaret, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, yo… With your fresh thoughts care for,… Ah! as the heart grows older
The world is charged with the gran… It will flame out, like shining fr… It gathers to a greatness, like th… Crushed. Why do men then now not… Generations have trod, have trod,…
Moonless darkness stands between. Past, the Past, no more be seen! But the Bethlehem—star may lead m… To the sight of Him Who freed me From the self that I have been.
Who long for rest, who look for pl… Away from counter, court, or schoo… O where live well your lease of le… But here at, here at Penmaen Pool… You’ll dare the Alp? you’ll dart…
