#EnglishWriters #VictorianWriters
What is it to grow old? Is it to lose the glory of the for… The luster of the eye? Is it for beauty to forego her wre… —Yes, but not this alone.
‘In harmony with Nature’? Restles… Who with such heat dost preach wha… When true, the last impossibility; To be like Nature strong, like Na… Know, man hath all which Nature h…
We were apart; yet, day by day, I bade my heart more constant be. I bade it keep the world away, And grow a home for only thee; Nor fear’d but thy love likewise g…
My horse’s feet beside the lake, Where sweet the unbroken moonbeams… Sent echoes through the night to w… Each glistening strand, each heath… The poplar avenue was pass’d,
So on the floor lay Balder dead;… Lay thickly strewn swords, axes, d… Which all the Gods in sport had i… At Balder, whom no weapon pierced… But in his breast stood fixt the f…
A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of Tim… Brimming with wonder and joy He spreads out his arms to the lig…
Crouch’d on the pavement close by… A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and to… A babe was in her arms, and at her… A girl; their clothes were rags, t… Some labouring men, whose work lay…
In the deserted, moon-blanched str… How lonely rings the echo of my fe… Those windows, which I gaze at, f… Silent and white, unopening down, Repellent as the world,—but see,
The Castle Down the Savoy valleys sounding, Echoing round this castle old, 'Mid the distant mountain-chalets Hark! what bell for church is toll…
Ye storm-winds of Autumn Who rush by, who shake The window, and ruffle The gleam-lighted lake; Who cross to the hill-side
What mortal, when he saw, Life’s voyage done, his heavenly… Could ever yet dare tell him fearl… ‘I have kept uninfring’d my nature… The inly-written chart thou gavest…
Even in a palace, life may be led… So spake the imperial sage, purest… Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling… Of common life, where, crowded up… Our freedom for a little bread we…
Through Alpine meadows soft-suffu… With rain, where thick the crocus… Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from Saint Laurent… The bridge is cross’d, and slow we…
Hark! ah, the nightingale— The tawny-throated! Hark, from that moonlit cedar what… What triumph! hark!—what pain! O wanderer from a Grecian shore,
TRISTRAM Raise the light, my Page, that I… Thou art come at last then, haught… Long I’ve waited, long I’ve fough… Late thou comest, cruel thou hast…