#English #Victorians
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…
See the sweet women, friend, that… The ever-falling fountain of green… Round the white bending stem, and… Of our most blushful flower shine… To teach philosophers the thirst o…
By this he knew she wept with waki… That, at his hand’s light quiver b… The strange low sobs that shook th… Were called into her with a sharp… And strangled mute, like little ga…
Fair Mother Earth lay on her back… To gaze her fill on Autumn’s suns… When at a waving of the fallen lig… Sprang realms of rosy fruitage o’e… A lustrous heavenly orchard hung t…
It chanced his lips did meet her f… She had no blush, but slanted down… Shamed nature, then, confesses lov… And most she punishes the tender f… Who will believe what honours her…
What splendour of imperial station… The Tree of Life, may reach when,… His branching stem points way to u… And skyward still aspires, we see… Who sang for us the Archangelical…
Ask, is Love divine, Voices all are, ay. Question for the sign, There’s a common sigh. Would we, through our years,
Sharp is the night, but stars with… Leap off the rim of earth across t… It is a night to make the heavens… More than the nest whereto apace w… Lengths down our road each fir—tre…
Enter these enchanted woods, You who dare. Nothing harms beneath the leaves More than waves a swimmer cleaves. Toss your heart up with the lark,
Come to me in any shape! As a victor crown’d with vine, In thy curls the clustering grape,… Or a vanquished slave: ’Tis thy coming that I crave,
Follow me, follow me, Over brake and under tree, Thro’ the bosky tanglery, Brushwood and bramble! Follow me, follow me,
The old grey Alp has caught the c… And the torrent river sings aloud; The glacier-green Rosanna sings An organ song of its upper springs… Foaming under the tiers of pine,
(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!
Not solitarily in fields we find Earth’s secret open, though one pa… Her plainest, such as children spe… With bird and beast; raised letter… Not where the troubled passions to…
High climbs June’s wild rose, Her bush all blooms in a swarm; And swift from the bud she blows, In a day when the wooer is warm; Frank to receive and give,