#English #Victorians
TRISTRAM IS she not come? The messenger wa… Prop me upon the pillows once agai… Raise me, my Page: this cannot lo… Christ! what a night! how the slee…
‘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 cannot kindle when we will The fire which in the heart reside… The spirit bloweth and is still, In mystery our soul abides. But tasks in hours of insight will…
Artist, whose hand, with horror wi… From the rank life of towns this l… The prodigy of full-blown crime am… Valleys and men to middle fortune… Not innocent, indeed, yet not forl…
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,
The Castle Down the Savoy valleys sounding, Echoing round this castle old, 'Mid the distant mountain-chalets Hark! what bell for church is toll…
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…
Children (as such forgive them) ha… Ever in their own eager pastime be… To make the incurious bystander, i… On his own swarming thoughts, an i… Too fearful or too fond to play al…
AND the first grey of morning fil… And the fog rose out of the Oxus… But all the Tartar camp along the… Was hush’d, and still the men were… Sohrab alone, he slept not; all ni…
True, we must tame our rebel will: True, we must bow to Nature’s law… Must bear in silence many an ill; Must learn to wait, renounce, with… Yet now, when boldest wills give p…
Still glides the stream, slow drop… Under the rustling poplars’ shade; Silent the swans beside us float— None speaks, none heeds; ah, turn… Let those arch eyes now softly shi…
I too have suffer’d: yet I know She is not cold, though she seems… She is not cold, she is not light; But our ignoble souls lack might. She smiles and smiles, and will no…
'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is… And ease from shame, and rest from… There’s nothing can dismarble now The smoothness of that limpid brow… But is a calm like this, in truth,
Hark! ah, the nightingale— The tawny-throated! Hark, from that moonlit cedar what… What triumph! hark!—what pain! O wanderer from a Grecian shore,
Again I see my bliss at hand; The town, the lake are here. My Marguerite smiles upon the str… Unalter’d with the year. I know that graceful figure fair,
