#EnglishWriters #Victorian
The sun, the moon, the stars, the… Are not these, O Soul, the Visio… Is not the Vision He, tho’ He be… Dreams are true while they last, a… Earth, these solid stars, this wei…
Deep on the convent-roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon: My breath to heaven like vapour go… May my soul follow soon! The shadows of the convent-towers
How thought you that this thing co… What are those graces that could m… Who is not worth the notice of a s… To rouse the vapid devil of her ha… A speech conventional, so void of…
Oh, Beauty, passing beauty! sweet… How canst thou let me waste my you… I only ask to sit beside thy feet. Thou knowest I dare not look into… Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare…
O Sorrow, cruel fellowship, O Priestess in the vaults of Deat… O sweet and bitter in a breath, What whispers from thy lying lip? “The stars,” she whispers, “blindl…
Again at Christmas did we weave The holly round the Christmas hea… The silent snow possess’d the eart… And calmly fell our Christmas-eve… The yule-log sparkled keen with fr…
O blackbird! sing me something wel… While all the neighbours shoot the… I keep smooth plats of fruitful gr… Where thou may’st warble, eat and… The espaliers and the standards al…
I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel; For words, like Nature, half reve… And half conceal the Soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and bra…
A storm was coming, but the winds… And in the wild woods of Brocelia… Before an oak, so hollow, huge and… It looked a tower of ivied masonwo… At Merlin’s feet the wily Vivien…
O loyal to the royal in thyself, And loyal to thy land, as this to… Bear witness, that rememberable da… When, pale as yet, and fever-worn,… Who scarce had plucked his flicker…
He clasps the crag with crooked ha… Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring’d with the azure world, he st… The wrinkled sea beneath him crawl… He watches from his mountain walls…
IT was the time when lilies blow, And clouds are highest up in air, Lord Ronald brought a lily-white… To give his cousin, Lady Clare. I trow they did not part in scorn–
Ask me no more: the moon may draw… The cloud may stoop from heaven an… With fold to fold, of mountain or… But O too fond, when have I answe… Ask me no more.
Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial,
Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in… Had made mock-knight of Arthur’s… At Camelot, high above the yellow… Danced like a wither’d leaf before… And toward him from the hall, with…