Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet For the ripple to run over in its mirth;...
My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford...
What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.) Be ruled by me and have a care o'the crowd: This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze: I'll tell you like a book and save your shins....
Browning contributed the money he earned by this poem to the people of Paris suffering from the Franco-Prussian War. Herv' Riel appeared in the Cornhill Magazine for March, 1871, and the publisher, Mr. George Smith, paid one hu...
Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles, Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight, stray or stop As they crop. ...
I. Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in His hand Who saith 'A whole I planned,...
Suggested by a very early recollection of a prose story by the noble woman and imaginative writer, Jane Taylor, of Norwich, (more correctly, of Ongar]. - R. B.
Dear, had the world in its caprice Deigned to proclaim 'I know you both, 'Have recognized your plighted troth, Am sponsor for you: live in peace!' How many precious months and years...
I know there shall dawn a day Is it here on homely earth? Is it yonder, worlds away, Where the strange and new have birth, That Power comes full in play?
Woe, he went galloping into the war, Clara, Clara! Let us two dream: shall he 'scape with a scar? Scarcely disfigurement, rather a grace Making for manhood which nowise we mar:...
I know a Mount, the gracious Sun perceives First, when he visits, last, too, when he leaves The world; and, vainly favoured, it repays The day-long glory of his steadfast gaze...
Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews, sons mine . . . ah God, I know not! Well, She, men would have to be your mother once,...
Here were the end, had anything an end: Thus, lit and launched, up and up roared and soared A rocket, till the key o' the vault was reached, And wide heaven held, a breathless minute-space,...
I. I said, Then, dearest, since 'tis so, Since now at length my fate I know, Since nothing all my love avails, Since all, my life seemed meant for, fails, Since this was written and needs must be...
Another day that finds her living yet, Little Pompilia, with the patient brow And lamentable smile on those poor lips, And, under the white hospital-array, A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise...
Do you see this Ring? 'Tis Rome-work, made to match (By Castellani's imitative craft) Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn, After a dropping April; found alive...
I've a Friend, over the sea; I like him, but he loves me; It all grew out of the books I write; They find such favour in his sight That he slaughters you with savage looks...