#EnglishWriters #Victorian
YOU must wake and call me early,… To-morrow ‘ll be the happiest time… Of all the glad new-year, mother,… For I 'm to be Queen o’ the May,… There ‘s many a black, black eye,…
So all day long the noise of battl… Among the mountains by the winter… Until King Arthur’s table, man by… Had fallen in Lyonnesse about the… King Arthur: then, because his wo…
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…
Move eastward, happy earth, and le… Yon orange sunset waning slow: From fringes of the faded eve, O, happy planet, eastward go: Till over thy dark shoulder glow
Of old sat Freedom on the heights… The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights: She heard the torrents meet. There in her place she did rejoice…
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
Still on the tower stood the vane, A black yew gloomed the stagnant a… I peered athwart the chancel pane And saw the altar cold and bare. A clog of lead was round my feet,
I wage not any feud with Death For changes wrought on form and fa… No lower life that earth’s embrace May breed with him, can fright my… Eternal process moving on,
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild… The flying cloud, the frosty light… The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him… Ring out the old, ring in the new,
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
Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in… Little flower-but if I could unde… What you are, root and all, all in…
How fares it with the happy dead? For here the man is more and more; But he forgets the days before God shut the doorways of his head. The days have vanish’d, tone and t…
Is it, then, regret for buried tim… That keenlier in sweet April wake… And meets the year, and gives and… The colours of the crescent prime? Not all: the songs, the stirring a…
Heaven weeps above the earth all n… In darkness weeps, as all ashamed… Because the earth hath made her st… With selfwrought evils of unnumber… And doth the fruit of her dishonou…
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.