Men and women / compiled by Lou Burnard
| dc.contributor | Burnard, Lou Computing Service, University of Oxford |
| dc.contributor.author | Browning, Robert, 1812-1889 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2018-07-27 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2022-08-19T14:36:45Z |
| dc.date.available | 2022-08-19T14:36:45Z |
| dc.date.created | 1855 |
| dc.date.issued | 1988-05-19 |
| dc.identifier | ota:1201 |
| dc.identifier.uri | http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.14106/1201 |
| dc.description.abstract | In English Title from title page of source text |
| dc.format.extent | Text data less than 512 KB |
| dc.format.medium | Digital bitstream |
| dc.language | English |
| dc.language.iso | eng |
| dc.publisher | University of Oxford |
| dc.relation.ispartof | Oxford Text Archive Core Collection |
| dc.rights | Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. |
| dc.rights.uri | http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ |
| dc.rights.label | PUB |
| dc.subject.lcsh | Poems -- Great Britain -- 19th century |
| dc.subject.other | Poems |
| dc.title | Men and women / compiled by Lou Burnard |
| dc.type | Text |
| has.files | yes |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| files.size | 352050 |
| files.count | 1 |
| otaterms.date.range | 1800-1899 |
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<MT >MEN AND WOMAN
<T >LOVE AMONG THE RUINS
<R 1>
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--
<R 2>
Was the site once of a city great and gay,
(So they say)
Of our country's very capital, its prince
Ages since
Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far
<R 3>
Now--the country does not even boast a tree,
As you see,
To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills
From the hills
Interest and give a name to, (else they run
Into one)
<R 4>
Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires
Up like fires
O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall
Bounding all,
Made of marble, men might march on nor be prest,
Twelve abreast.
<R 5>
And . . .
