#English #Victorians
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…
O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flyin… Fly to her, and fall upon her gild… And tell her, tell her, what I te… O tell her, Swallow, thou that kn… That bright and fierce and fickle…
The splendour falls on castle wall… And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the l… And the wild cataract leaps in glo… Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild ec…
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…
Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the… When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems as…
By night we linger’d on the lawn, For underfoot the herb was dry; And genial warmth; and o’er the sk… The silvery haze of summer drawn; And calm that let the tapers burn
To—night ungather’d let us leave This laurel, let this holly stand: We live within the stranger’s land… And strangely falls our Christmas… Our father’s dust is left alone
Come down, O maid, from yonder mo… What pleasure lives in height (the… In height and cold, the splendour… But cease to move so near the Hea… To glide a sunbeam by the blasted…
Sad Hesper o’er the buried sun And ready, thou, to die with him, Thou watchest all things ever dim And dimmer, and a glory done: The team is loosen’d from the wain…
And Willy, my eldest-born, is gon… Ruddy and white, and strong on his… And Willy’s wife has written: she… Never the wife for Willy: he woul… For, Annie, you see, her father w…
I come from haunts of coot and her… I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down,
A still small voice spake unto me, “Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?” Then to the still small voice I s… “Let me not cast in endless shade
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…
The wish, that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave, Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife…
Old poets foster’d under friendlie… Old Virgil who would write ten li… At dawn, and lavish all the golden… To make them wealthier in the read… And you, old popular Horace, you…