The Penguin Book of Victorian Verse
Maddening inwardly and scorns to wreak Itself in a foreign country; and if at whiles it develop To frenzy which needs to rave, none heeds the clamour, until there waits a few sufferer of like glamour, To rave in flip, who lends attentive convey. town is of evening, yet no longer of Sleep; There candy sleep isn't for the weary mind; The pitiless hours like years and a long time creep, an evening turns out termless hell. This dreadful pressure Of notion and recognition which by no means ceases, Or which a few moments’ stupor yet.
candy, and witty – Let’s now not say boring issues approximately her. 383. identify: Epitaph of a devotee of Venus 384 Shadows A music of shadows: by no means glory used to be however it had a few smooth shadow that may lie On wall, on quiet water, on gentle grass, Or within the vistas of the phantasy: The shadow of the home upon the garden Upon the home the shadow of the tree, and during the moon-steeped hours unto the sunrise The shadow of thy good looks over me. 385 At Citoyenne Tussaud’s where is filled with whispers –.
’eroes’ whilst the drums start to roll, The drums start to roll, my boys, the drums start to roll, O it’s ‘Thin pink line of ’eroes’ whilst the drums start to roll. We aren’t no skinny purple ’eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too, yet unmarried males in barricks, such a lot awesome such as you; An’ if occasionally our conduck isn’t all of your fancy paints, Why, unmarried males in barricks don’t develop into plaster saints; whereas it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Tommy, fall be’ind,’ yet it’s ‘Please to stroll in.
entrance, sir,’ while there’s difficulty within the wind, There’s hassle within the wind, my boys, there’s difficulty within the wind, O it’s ‘Please to stroll in entrance, sir,’ whilst there’s difficulty within the wind. You speak o’ larger nutrition for us, an’ faculties, an’ fires, an’ all: We’ll look forward to extry rations in case you deal with us rational. Don’t mess in regards to the cook-room slops, yet end up it to our face The Widow’s Uniform isn't the soldier man’s shame. For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Chuck him out, the brute!’.
In Q.26.68 are yoked by way of bibliographical violence jointly, yet haven't any different bond than the sewing; we should always imagine, no longer of Victorian poetry, yet of Victorian poetries, assuming even that we wish to preserve the ancient designation in any respect. but those poetries will be no much less artificially ‘constructed’ than the overall classification; it makes extra feel, in my opinion, to think about Victorian poetry as similar to Victorian Christianity, an originating time period which approved a various set of ideals and.