#Decadents #English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
To whom but thee, my youth to dedi… My youth, which these few leaves h… Should I now come, although I com… Alas! and can but lay them on thy… To whom but thee? From thee, I kn…
Trefoil and Quatrefoil! What shaped those destinied small… Or numbered them under the soil? I lift my dazzled sight From grass to sky,
As over English earth I gaze, Bare down, deep lane, and coppice—… Green hill, and distance lost in b… Horizon of this homely ground, A light that glows as from within
A flower, or the ghost of a flower… Mist, or the soul of it, felt In the secret night’s mid hour, Lost on the morning air! Who shall recover it,—beauty born…
She is not fair, as some are fair, Cold as the snow, as sunshine gay: On her clear brow, come grief what… She suffers not too stern an air; But, grave in silence, sweet in sp…
Spring has leapt into Summer. A glory has gone from the green. The flush of the poplar has sobere… The flame in the leaf of the lime… But I am thinking of the young me…
Out of the day—glare, out of all u… Hurrying in ways disquieted, bring… To silence, and earth’s ancient pe… That with profounder vision I may… In dew—baptizing dimness let me lo…
Queen Venus on a day of cloud Forsook heaven’s argent palaces, Beneath the roofing vapours bowed And sought a promontory loud Far in the utmost seas.
O paradise of waters and of isles… Dark pines on scarps that flame wh… A hundred isles that change like a… From shape to shape for them that… Many celestial palaces, gardens of…
Water, frolic water! Drops in the dazzle of noon, drops… Radiant down naked breast, down ar… You run to my feet, shaken to shin… Betwixt the green blades, liquid g…
Stooping over London, skies convu… With thunder moved: a rumour of st… Hushed them, and birds flew troubl… Up from the West climbing, above… Glowed sullen as copper embossed;…
O strange, O sweetly warm Falls the sunshine on my cheek. I taste the cordial North; In the pines I hear him speak. A new, a tender charm
Songs of the world unborn Swelling within me, a shoot from t… As I walk the ample teeming stree… This tranquil and misty morn, What is it to me you sing?
As my hand dropt a seed In the dibbled mould And my mind hurried onward To picture the miracle June should unfold,
Heroes, whose days are told, Above whose bodies brave Presses the heavy, cold, And quenching wave! Ye sleep: but your bright fame,