#English #Victorians #XIXCentury
Her son, albeit the Muse’s livery And measured courtly paces rouse h… Naked and hairy in his savage haun… To Nature only will he bend the k… Spouting the founts of her distill…
Violets, shy violets! How many hearts with you compare! Who hide themselves in thickest gr… And thence, unseen, Ravish the enraptured air
And-'Yonder look! yoho! yoho! Nancy is off!' the farmer cried, Advancing by the river side, Red-kerchieft and brown-coated;-'… My girl, who else could leap like…
The senses loving Earth or well o… Ravel yet more the riddle of our l… The mind is in their trammels, and… By trimming fear-bred tales; nor d… To find in nature things which les…
Under what spell are we debased By fears for our inviolate Isle, Whose record is of dangers faced And flung to heel with even smile? Is it a vaster force, a subtler gu…
(ADDRESSED TO CERTAI… The wind is East, the wind is Wes… Blows in and out of haven; The wind that blows is the wind th… And croak, my jolly raven!
How many a thing which we cast to… When others pick it up becomes a g… We grasp at all the wealth it is t… And by reflected light its worth i… Yet for us still ’tis nothing! and…
Rub thou thy battered lamp: nor cl… Honours from aught about thee. Li… Thy frame is as a dusty mantle hun… O grey one! pendant on a loosened… Thou art for this our life an anci…
It is the season of the sweet wild… My Lady’s emblem in the heart of… So golden-crownèd shines she glor… And with that softest dream of blo… Mild as an evening heaven round H…
Joy is fleet, Sorrow slow. Love, so sweet, Sorrow will sow. Love, that has flown
On yonder hills soft twilight dwel… And Hesper burns where sunset die… Moist and chill the woodland smell… From the fern-covered hollows upri… Darkness drops not from the skies,
Of men he would have raised to lig… In soul he conquered with those ne… His country’s pride and her abasem… The Man of England circled by the…
[Written for the Charing Cross A… Seen, too clear and historic withi… Frown when the Autumn days strike… They of our mortal diseases find n… Errors they of the soul, past the…
Musing on the fate of Daphne, Many feelings urged my breast, For the God so keen desiring, And the Nymph so deep distrest. Never flashed thro’ sylvan valley
A wicked man is bad enough on eart… But O the baleful lustre of a chi… Once pledged in tyranny! O star o… Darkly illumining a nation’s grief… How many men have worn thee on the…
