#English #Victorians #XIXCentury #Imagery #RhymedStanza Aubade
O God, where does this tend—these… What would I have? What is this ‘… To bound all? can there be a ‘waki… Of crowning life? The soul would… It would be first in all things—it…
Oh, to be in England Now that April’s there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the bru…
Just for a handful of silver he le… Just for a riband to stick in his… Found the one gift of which fortun… Lost all the others she lets us de… They, with the gold to give, doled…
OVER the sea our galleys went, With cleaving prows in order brave To a speeding wind and a bounding… A gallant armament: Each bark built out of a forest-tr…
Cleon the poet (from the sprinkled… Lily on lily, that o’erlace the se… And laugh their pride when the lig… To Protus in his Tyranny: much he… They give thy letter to me, even n…
Oh, good gigantic smile o’ the bro… This autumn morning! How he sets… To bask i’ the sun, and thrusts ou… For the ripple to run over in its… Listening the while, where on the…
This strange thing happened to a p… Viterbo boasts the man among her s… Of note, I seem to think: his rea… Picked up its precepts in Cortona… That’s Pietro Berretini, whom the…
AN OLD STORY. It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like… The house-roofs seemed to heave an… The church-spires flamed, such fla…
I. THE FLOWER’S NAME Here’s the garden she walked acros… Arm in my arm, such a short while… Hark, now I push its wicket, the… Hinders the hinges and makes them…
At the midnight in the silence of… When you set your fancies free, Will they pass to where—by death,… Low he lies who once so loved you,… —Pity me?
Take the cloak from his face, and… Let the corpse do its worst! How he lies in his rights of a man… Death has done all death can. And, absorbed in the new life he l…
Si credere dignum est.—Virgil,… Oh, worthy of belief I hold it wa… Virgil, your legend in those stran… No question, that adventure came t… One black night in Arcadia: yes,…
My heart sank with our Claret-fla… Just now, beneath the heavy sedges That serve this pond's black face… And still at yonder broken edges O' the hole, where up the bubbles…
I wonder do you feel to—day As I have felt since, hand in han… We sat down on the grass, to stray In spirit better through the land, This morn of Rome and May?
It is a lie—their Priests, their… Their Saints, their... all they f… Are lies, and lies—there! through… And ceiling, there! and walls and… There, lies, they lie—shall still…
