#English #Victorians
As Puritans they prominently wax, And none more kindly gives and tak… Strong psalmic chanting, like to n… They join to thunderings of their… But naughtiness, with hoggery, not…
My Lady unto Madam makes her bow. The charm of women is, that even w… You’re probed by them for tears, y… Nay, laugh outright, as I have do… The interview was gracious: they a…
O might I load my arms with thee, Like that young lover of Romance Who loved and gained so gloriously The fair Princess of France! Because he dared to love so high,
Who call her Mother and who calls… Look on her grave and see not Dea…
What are we first? First, animals… Intelligences at a leap; on whom Pale lies the distant shadow of th… And all that draweth on the tomb f… Into which state comes Love, the…
The buried voice bespake Antigone… ‘O sister! couldst thou know, as t… The bliss above, the reverence bel… Enkindled by thy sacrifice for me; Thou wouldst at once with holy ecs…
Not ere the bitter herb we taste, Which ages thought of happy times, To plant us in a weeping waste, Rings with our fellows this one he… Accordant chimes.
Now the frog, all lean and weak, Yawning from his famished sleep, Water in the ditch doth seek, Fast as he can stretch and leap: Marshy king-cups burning near
Like to some deep-chested organ wh… Serenely majestic in utterance, lo… Interprets to mortals with melody… The mystical harmonies chiming for… spheres.
If that thou hast the gift of stre… Thy part is to uplift the trodden… Else in a giant’s grasp until the… A hopeless wrestler shall thy soul…
A Princess in the eastern tale Paced thro’ a marble city pale, And saw in ghastly shapes of stone The sculptured life she breathed a… Saw, where’er her eye might range,
THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Grey with all honours of age! but… As dawn when the drowsy farm-yard… Tender to tearfulness-childlike, a… Here beats true English blood ric…
Yet it was plain she struggled, an… Of righteous feeling made her piti… Poor twisting worm, so queenly bea… Where came the cleft between us? w… My tears are on thee, that have ra…
Whate’er I be, old England is my… So there’s my answer to the judges… I’m nothing of a fox, nor of a lam… I don’t know how to bleat nor how… I’m for the nation!
High climbs June’s wild rose, Her bush all blooms in a swarm; And swift from the bud she blows, In a day when the wooer is warm; Frank to receive and give,
