#English #Victorians
THIS darksome burn, horseback br… His rollrock highroad roaring down… In coop and in comb the fleece of… Flutes and low to the lake falls h… A windpuff—bonnet of fáwn—fróth
Elected Silence, sing to me And beat upon my whorlèd ear, Pipe me to pastures still and be The music that I care to hear. Shape nothing, lips; be lovely—dum…
When will you ever, Peace, wild w… Your round me roaming end, and und… When, when, Peace, will you, Peac… To own my heart: I yield you do c… That piecemeal peace is poor peace…
Thee, God, I come from, to thee g… All day long I like fountain flow From thy hand out, swayed about Mote—like in thy mighty glow. What I know of thee I bless,
Glory be to God for dappled thing… For skies of couple—colour as a br… For rose—moles all in stipple upon… Fresh—firecoal chestnut—falls; fin… Landscape plotted and pieced– fold…
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring… When weeds, in wheels, shoot long… Thrush’s eggs look little low heav… Through the echoing timber does so… The ear, it strikes like lightning…
Cloud—puffball, torn tufts, tossed… Built thoroughfare: heaven—royster… Down roughcast, down dazzling whit… Shivelights and shadowtackle ín lo… Delightfully the bright wind boist…
Tom—garlanded with squat and surly… Tom; then Tom’s fallowbootfellow… By him and rips out rockfire homef… Tom Heart—at—ease, Tom Navvy: he… Sure, ’s bed now. Low be it: lust…
No worst, there is none. Pitched… More pangs will, schooled at forep… Comforter, where, where is your co… Mary, mother of us, where is your… My cries heave, herds—long; huddle…
I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and… And a few lilies blow. And I have asked to be
God with honour hang your head, Groom, and grace you, bride, your… With lissome scions, sweet scions, Out of hallowed bodies bred. Each by other’s comfort kind:
Teevo cheevo cheevio chee: O where, what can tháat be? Weedio—weedio: there again! So tiny a trickle of sóng—strain; And all round not to be found
To what serves mortal beauty ‘ —da… ing blood—the O—seal—that—so ’ fea… Than Purcell tune lets tread to?… Men’s wits to the things that are;… Master more may than gaze, ’ gaze…
May is Mary’s month, and I Muse at that and wonder why: Her feasts follow reason, Dated due to season— Candlemas, Lady Day;
Felix Randal the farrier, O is he… Who have watched his mould of man,… Pining, pining, till time when rea… Fatal four disorders, fleshed ther… Sickness broke him. Impatient, he…
