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The Angel Aug 19, 2010 | momsy_online by William Blake I Dreamt a Dream! what can it mean? And that I was a maiden Queen: Guarded by an Angel mild; Witless woe, was neer beguil'd! And I wept both night and day And he wip'd my tears away And I wept both day and night And hid from him my hearts delight So he took his wings and fled: Then the morn blush'd rosy red: I dried my tears & armd my fears, With ten thousand shields and spears. Soon my Angel came again; I was arm'd, he came in vain: For the time of youth was fled And grey hairs were on my head COMMENTS

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening Aug 16, 2010 | momsy_online by Robert Frost Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. COMMENTS

The Road Not Taken Jul 10, 2010 | momsy_online by Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. COMMENTS czxcxzAug 07, 2010 zxczx czxcxzAug 07, 2010 zxczx

In a London Drawingroom Jul 01, 2010 | momsy_online by George Eliot The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the smoke. For view there are the houses opposite Cutting the sky with one long line of wall Like solid fog: far as the eye can stretch Monotony of surface & of form Without a break to hang a guess upon. No bird can make a shadow as it flies, For all is shadow, as in ways o'erhung By thickest canvass, where the golden rays Are clothed in hemp. No figure lingering Pauses to feed the hunger of the eye Or rest a little on the lap of life. All hurry on & look upon the ground, Or glance unmarking at the passers by The wheels are hurrying too, cabs, carriages All closed, in multiplied identity. The world seems one huge prison-house & court Where men are punished at the slightest cost, With lowest rate of colour, warmth & joy. COMMENTS

The Lost Mistress Jun 27, 2010 | momsy_online by Robert Browning All’s over, then: does truth sound bitter As one at first believes? Hark, ’tis the sparrows’ good-night twitter About your cottage eaves! And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, I noticed that, today; One day more bursts them open fully – You know the red turns grey. Tomorrow we meet the same then, dearest? May I take your hand in mine? Mere friends are we, – well, friends the merest Keep much that I resign: For each glance of the eye so bright and black, Though I keep with heart’s endeavor, – Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back, Though it stay in my soul for ever! – Yet I will but say what mere friends say, Or only a thought stronger; I will hold your hand but as long as all may, Or so very little longer! COMMENTS

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