#English #Victorians #XIXCentury
From noiseful arms, and acts of pr… In tournament or tilt, Sir Perciv… Whom Arthur and his knighthood ca… Had passed into the silent life of… Praise, fast, and alms; and leavin…
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…
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…
Who would be A merman bold, Sitting alone, Singing alone Under the sea,
Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flow… Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted…
As thro’ the land at eve we went, And pluck’d the ripen’d ears, We fell out, my wife and I, O we fell out I know not why, And kiss’d again with tears.
Oh, yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final end of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of bl… That nothing walks with aimless fe…
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…
O beauty, passing beauty! Sweetes… How can thou let me waste my youth… I only ask to sit beside thy feet. Thou knowest I dare not look into… Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare…
If I were loved, as I desire to b… What is there in the great sphere… And range of evil between death an… That I should fear,—if I were lov… All the inner, all the outer world…
Who would be A mermaid fair, Singing alone, Combing her hair Under the sea,
Wheer 'asta beän saw long and meä… Noorse? thoort nowt o’ a noorse: w… Says that I moänt 'a naw moor aäl… Git ma my aäle, fur I beänt a—gaw… Doctors, they knaws nowt, fur a sa…
On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the… And thro’ the field the road runs… To many—tower’d Camelot;
Gigantic daughter of the West, We drink to thee across the flood, We know thee most, we love thee be… For art thou not of British blood… Should war’s mad blast again be bl…
Morn in the wake of the morning st… Came furrowing all the orient into… We rose, and each by other drest w… Descended to the court that lay th… In shadow, but the Muses’ heads w…