#English #Victorians #XIXCentury
See’st thou a Skylark whose glist… Quiver like pulses beneath the mel… Deep in the heart—yearning distanc… Wisdom and beauty and love are the…
Close Echo hears the woodman’s ax… To double on it, as in glee, With clap of hands, and little lac… Of meaning in her repartee. For all shall fall,
At dinner, she is hostess, I am h… Went the feast ever cheerfuller?… The Topic over intellectual deeps In buoyancy afloat. They see no g… With sparkling surface-eyes we ply…
Hawk or shrike has done this deed Of downy feathers: rueful sight! Sweet sentimentalist, invite Your bosom’s Power to intercede. So hard it seems that one must ble…
Long with us, now she leaves us; s… Beneath our sacred sod: A woman vowed to Good, whom all a… The daylight gift of God.
[Iliad, B. II V. 455] Like as a terrible fire feeds fast… Up on a mountain height, and the b… So on the bright blest arms of the… Gleam wide round through the circl…
Now ’tis Spring on wood and wold, Early Spring that shivers with co… But gladdens, and gathers, day by… A lovelier hue, a warmer ray, A sweeter song, a dearer ditty;
Distraction is the panacea, Sir! I hear my oracle of Medicine say. Doctor! that same specific yesterd… I tried, and the result will not d… A second trial. Is the devil’s li…
All other joys of life he strove t… And magnify, and catch them to his… But they had suffered shipwreck wi… And gazed upon him sallow from the… Or if Delusion came, ’twas but to…
Thou to me art such a spring As the Arab seeks at eve, Thirsty from the shining sands; There to bathe his face and hands, While the sun is taking leave,
The sister Hours in circles linke… Daughters of men, of men the mates… Are gone on flow with the day that… With the night that spanned at gol… Mothers, they leave us, quickening…
I am not of those miserable males Who sniff at vice and, daring not… Do therefore hope for heaven. I t… Of all my deeds. The wind that fi… Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I…
Men of our race, we send you one Round whom Victoria’s holy name Is halo from the sunken sun Of her grand Summer’s day aflame. The heart of your loved Motherlan…
Cannon his name, Cannon his voice, he came. Who heard of him heard shaken hill… An earth at quake, to quiet stampe… Who looked on him beheld the will…
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,