victorian-poets

"Ah! "All things come to those who wait" — (I say these words to make me glad). But something answers soft and sad "They come, but often come too late!""

"Love is the gift that brings us nearer Heaven Than any other gift the world can hold, And perfect Love is nearest perfect bliss."

"O, what makes woman lovely? Virtue, faith, And gentleness in suffering—an endurance Through scorn or trial. These call beauty forth, Give it the stamp celestial, and admit it To sisterhood with angels."

"At the latter end of 1849 Mrs. Gaskell, the author of ', wrote to , asking for an introduction to Tennyson, in connection with Samuel Bamford, the Lancashire weaver, and author of Life of a Radical. Mrs. Gaskell wished, I believe, to enlist the poet's interest on behalf of Bamford, who was now old, and greatly desirous of having a copy of Tennyson's poems for himself. With his usual kindness of heart, the author of ' writes at once to Forster that he will, as soon as maybe, instruct (his publisher) to forward the books—adding that he reckoned Bamford's admiration as the highest honour he had ever received."

"The condition of the working classes, physically, morally, and mentally, having of late begun to attract that degree of attention which it ought long ago to have done, I conceived that, at this particular crisis, some good might be rendered to the country — some advancement made towards the Truth — by an actual survey of the present condition of such labouring persons. I determined therefore, on taking a series of perambulations amongst them, for the purpose of noting down their real state and condition, and of making it known through the public press of the country."

"It is matter of history, that whilst the laurels were yet cool on the brows of our victorious soldiers on their second occupation of Paris, the elements of convulsion were at work amongst the masses of our labouring population; and that a series of disturbances commenced with the introduction of the , and continued, with short intervals, until the close of the year 1816. In London and riots ensued, and were continued for several days, whilst the bill was discussed; at , there were riots on account of the high price of bread; at there were similar disturbances to prevent the exportation of grain; at , by the unemployed, to destroy machinery; at , not suppressed without bloodshed ..."

"Easter was a more important holiday time at . On Good Friday, children took little baskets neatly trimmed with moss, and went "," and received at some places eggs, at some places , and at others , which they carried home to their mothers, who would feel proud that their children had been so much respected. On , companies of young men grotesquely dressed, led up by a fiddler, and with one or two in female attire, would go from house to house on the same errand of "peace-egging." At some places they would dance, at other they would recite quaint verses, and at the houses of the more sedate inhabitants, they would merely request a "peace-egg." Money or ale would in general be presented to them, which they afterwards divided and spent. Meantime, the holiday having fairly commenced, all work was abandoned, good eating, good drinking, and new clothing were the order of the day. Men thronged to the ale-houses, and there was much folly, intemperance, and quarreling, amidst the prevailing good humour."

"No seed shall perish which the soul hath sown."

"These things shall be! A loftier race Than e'er the world hath known, shall rise With flame of freedom in their souls, And light of science in their eyes."

"She smiled, and the shadows departed; She shone, and the snows were rain; And he who was frozen-hearted Bloomed up into love again."

"Shades are we; and of shades we weave A trifling pleasant make-believe; Then pass into the shadowy night, Where formless shades blindfold the light."

"Gods fade; but God abides and in man’s heart Speaks with the clear unconquerable cry Of energies and hopes that can not die."

"Princes of courtesy, merciful, proud and strong."

"Drake, he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come, (Captain, art tha sleepin' there below?) Slung atween the roundshot, list'ning for the drum, And dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe."

"And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat, Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote -- 'Play up! play up! and play the game!'"

"The work of the world must still be done, And minds are many though truth be one."

"To set the cause above renown, To love the game above the prize."

"Tho' the world could turn from you, This, at least, I learn from you: Beauty and Truth, tho' never found, are worthy to be sought, The singer, upward-springing, Is grander than his singing, And tranquil self-sufficing joy illumes the dark of thought. This, at least, you teach me, In a revelation: That gods still snatch, as worthy death, the soul in its aspiration."

"Even on the white English crags A few strong spirits, in a race that binds Its body in chains and calls them Liberty, And calls each fresh link Progress, stood erect With faces pale that hunger'd to the light."

"Full of a sweet indifference."

"I saw the starry Tree Eternity Put forth the blossom Time."

"Upward my face I turn to you, I long for you, I yearn to you, The spectral vision trances me to utt'rance wild and weak; It is not that I mourn you, To mourn you were to scorn you, For you are one step nearer to the beauty singers seek. But I want, and cannot see you, I seek and cannot find you, And, see! I touch the book of songs you tenderly left behind you!"

"Lo, the book I hold here, In the city cold here !I hold it with a gentle hand and love it as I may; Lo, the weary moments! Lo, the icy comments! And lo, false Fortune's knife of gold swift-lifted up to slay!Has the strife no ending? Has the song no meaning?Linger I, idle as of old, while men are reaping or gleaning?"

"I, who loved and knew you, In the city that slew you, Still hunger on, and thirst, and climb, proud-hearted and alone:Serpent-fears enfold me, Syren-visions hold me, And, like a wave, I gather strength, and gathering strength, I moan; Yea, the pale moon beckons, Still I follow, aching, And gather strength, only to make a louder moan, in breaking!"

"Their hearts and sentiments were free, their appetites were hearty."

"I ask no more from mortals Than your beautiful face implies,— The beauty the artist beholding Interprets and sanctifies. Who says that men have fallen, That life is wretched and rough? I say, the world is lovely, And that loveliness is enough. So my doubting days are ended, And the labour of life seems clear; And life hums deeply around me, Just like the murmur here, And quickens the sense of living, And shapes me for peace and storm,— And dims my eyes with gladness When it glides into colour and form!"

"“O Balder, he who fashion’d us, And bade us live and move, Shall weave for Death’s sad heavenly hair Immortal flowers of love. “Ah! never fail’d my servant Death, Whene’er I named his name,— But at my bidding he hath flown As swift as frost or flame. “Yea, as a sleuth-hound tracks a man, And finds his form, and springs, So hath he hunted down the gods As well as human things! “Yet only thro’ the strength of Death A god shall fall or rise — A thousand lie on the cold snows, Stone still, with marble eyes. “But whosoe’er shall conquer Death, Tho’ mortal man he be, Shall in his season rise again, And live, with thee, and me! “And whosoe’er loves mortals most Shall conquer Death the best, Yea, whosoe’er grows beautiful Shall grow divinely blest.” The white Christ raised his shining face To that still bright’ning sky. “Only the beautiful shall abide, Only the base shall die!”"

"Along the melting shores of earth An emerald flame there ran, Forest and field grew bright, and mirth Gladdened the flocks of man. Then glory grew on earth and heaven, Full glory of full day! Then the bright rainbow's colours seven On every iceberg lay!In Balder's hand Christ placed His own, And it was golden weather, And on that berg as on a throne The Brethren stood together!And countless voices far and wide Sang sweet beneath the sky — "All that is beautiful shall abide, All that is base shall die."."

"Believing hath a core of unbelieving."

"Dark to me is the earth. Dark to me are the heavens. Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars? Desolate are the streets. Desolate is the city. A city taken by storm, where none are left but the slain."

"Life is a play acted by dying men, Where, if its heroes seem to foot it well And go light-tongued without grimace of pain, Death will be found anon. And who shall tell Which part was saddest, or in youth or age, When the tired actor stops and leaves the stage?"

"Therefore the earth is dark to me, the sunlight blackness, Therefore I go in tears and alone, by night and day; Therefore I find no love in heaven, no light, no beauty, A heaven taken by storm, where none are left but the slain!"

"I knew the Spring was come. I knew it even Better than all by this, that through my chase In bush and stone and hill and sea and heaven I seem'd to see and follow still your face. Your face my quarry was. For it I rode, My horse a thing of wings, myself a god."

"BEAUTIFUL Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay ! With your numerous arches and pillars in so grand array And your central girders, which seem to the eye To be almost towering to the sky."

"Most Mighty Empress, of India, and Englands beloved Queen, Most Handsome to be Seen. I wish you every Success. And that heaven may you bless. For your Kindness to the poor while they are in distress. I hope the Lord will protect you while living And hereafter when your Majesty is … dead. I hope the Lord above will place an eternal Crown! upon your Head. I am your Gracious Majesty ever faithful to Thee, William McGonagall, The Poor Poet, That lives in Dundee."

"Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay! Alas! I am very sorry to say That ninety lives have been taken away On the last Sabbath day of 1879, Which will be remember'd for a very long time."

"I must now conclude my lay By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay, That your central girders would not have given way, At least many sensible men do say, Had they been supported on each side with buttresses, At least many sensible men confesses."

"All hail to the Rev. George Gilfillan, of Dundee, He is the greatest preacher I did ever hear or see. He preaches in a plain, straightforward way, The people flock to hear him night and day, And hundreds from his church doors are often turned away, Because he is the greatest preacher of the present day."

"Then King Edward ordered his horsemen to charge, Thirty thousand in number, it was very large; They thought to o'erwhelm them ere they could rise from their knees, But they met a different destiny, which did them displease; For the horsemen fell into the spik'd pits in the way, And, with broken ranks and confusion, they all fled away, But few of them escap'd death from the spik'd pits, For the Scots with their swords hack'd them to bits."

"I was seized with a strong desire to write poetry, so strong, in fact, that in imagination I thought I heard a voice crying in my ears –"Write! Write"I wondered what could be the matter with me, and I began to walk backwards and forwards in a great fit of excitement, saying to myself– "I know nothing about poetry.""

"But I may say Dame Fortune has been very kind to me by endowing me with the genius of poetry. I remember how I felt when I received the spirit of poetry. It was in the year of 1877."

"Well, I must say that the first man who threw peas at me was a publican .."

"Simple and brave, his faith awoke Ploughmen to struggle with their fate; Armies won battles when he spoke, And out of Chaos sprang the state."

"Seeking unceasingly for the First Cause of All, in question for what special purpose he was made, Man, in the unsearchable darkness, knoweth one thing: that as he is, so was he made; and if the Essence and characteristic faculty of humanity is our conscient Reason and our desire of knowledge, that was Nature's Purpose in the making of man."

"Repudiation of pleasur is a reason'd folly of imperfection. Ther is no motiv can rebate or decompose the intrinsic joy of activ life, whereon all function whatsoever in man is based."

"Beauty, the eternal Spouse of the Wisdom of God and Angel of his Presence thru' all creation."

"I know that if odour were visible as colour is, I'd see the summer garden aureoled in rainbow clouds."

"Man's Reason is in such deep insolvency to sense, that tho' she guide his highest flight heav'nward, and teach him dignity morals manners and human comfort, she can delicatly and dangerously bedizen the rioting joys that fringe the sad pathways of Hell."

"Nature hav no music; nor would ther be for thee any better melody in the April woods at dawn than what an old stone-deaf labourer, lying awake o'night in his comfortless attic, might perchance be aware of, when the rats run amok in his thatch?"

"So sweet love seemed that April morn, When first we kissed beside the thorn, So strangely sweet, it was not strange We thought that love could never change."