#EnglishWriters #VictorianWriters
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,
He found her by the ocean’s moanin… Nor any wicked change in her disce… And she believed his old love had… Which was her exultation, and her… She took his hand, and walked with…
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,
To them that knew her, there is vi… In these the simple letters of her… To them that knew her not, be it b… So strong a spirit is not of the d…
‘Sirs! may I shake your hands? My countrymen, I see! I’ve lived in foreign lands Till England’s Heaven to me. A hearty shake will do me good,
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,
I cannot lose thee for a day, But like a bird with restless wing My heart will find thee far away, And on thy bosom fall and sing, My nest is here, my rest is here;…
To Thee, dear God of Mercy, both… Who straightway sound the call to… And that black spot in each embatt… Spring of the blood-stream, later… Now is it red artillery and white…
Sleek as a lizard at round of a st… The look of her heart slipped out… Sweet on her lord her soft eyes sh… As innocents clear of a shade of s… He laid a finger under her chin,
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…
What are we first? First, animals… Intelligences at a leap; on whom Pale lies the distant shadow of th… And all that draweth on the tomb f… Into which state comes Love, the…
She yields: my Lady in her nobles… Has yielded: she, my golden-crownÃ… The bride of every sense! more swe… Who breathe the violet breath of m… O visage of still music in the sky
I stood at the gate of the cot Where my darling, with side-glance… Would spy, on her trim garden-plot… The busy wild things chase and lur… For these with their ways were her…
On her great venture, Man, Earth gazes while her fingers dint… Which is his well of strength, his… And fair to scan. More aid than that embrace,
