#English #Victorians
Now Time’s Andromeda on this rock… With not her either beauty’s equal… Her injury’s, looks off by both ho… Her flower, her piece of being, do… Time past she has been attempted a…
To seem the stranger lies my lot,… Among strangers. Father and mothe… Brothers and sisters are in Chris… And he my peace my parting, sword… England, whose honour O all my he…
The best ideal is the true And other truth is none. All glory be ascribèd to The holy Three in One.
May is Mary’s month, and I Muse at that and wonder why: Her feasts follow reason, Dated due to season— Candlemas, Lady Day;
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,
I awoke in the Midsummer not to c… The moon, dwindled and thinned to… Or paring of paradisaical fruit, l… Stepped from the stool, drew back… A cusp still clasped him, a fluke…
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonf… As tumbled over rim in roundy well… Stones ring; like each tucked stri… Bow swung finds tongue to fling ou… Each mortal thing does one thing a…
A buglar boy from barrack (it is o… There)—boy bugler, born, he tells… Mother to an English sire (he Shares their best gifts surely, fa… This very very day came down to us…
Margaret, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, yo… With your fresh thoughts care for,… Ah! as the heart grows older
Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, D… Not untwist —slack they may be —th… In me ór, most weary, cry I can n… Can something, hope, wish day come… But ah, but O thou terrible, why…
The times are nightfall, look, the… The times are winter, watch, a wor… They waste, they wither worse; the… Or bring more or more blazon man’s… And I not help. Nor word now of s…
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…
Cloud—puffball, torn tufts, tossed… Built thoroughfare: heaven—royster… Down roughcast, down dazzling whit… Shivelights and shadowtackle ín lo… Delightfully the bright wind boist…
Honour is flashed off exploit, so… And those strokes once that gashed… Should tongue that time now, trump… And, on the fighter, forge his glo… On Christ they do and on the mart…
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…
