Madeleine Emerald Thiele

The Victorian Butterfly muses upon Art, Angels & other stuff in between.



The Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse by Matthew Arnold

  Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from Saint Laurent goes. The bridge is cross'd, and slow we ride, Through forest, up the mountain-side. The autumnal evening... Continue Reading →


Hummingbird by D.H. Lawrence

I can imagine, in some otherworld Primeval-dumb, far back In that most awful stillness, that gasped and hummed, Humming-birds raced down the avenues. Before anything had a soul, While life was a heave of matter, half inanimate, This little bit... Continue Reading →

The Nightingale near the House by Harold Monro

Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn: It listens, listens. Taller trees beyond Listen. The moon at the unruffled pond Stares. And you sing, you sing. That star-enchanted song falls through the air From lawn to lawn down terraces... Continue Reading →

The Spotted Fawn by Phoebe Hesketh

The spotted fawn Awoke in small leaf-spotted suns That dappled all his tawny back, Tattooing him with coins where he lay Beside his mother's warmth the first day That shpwed him light, Leaf-filtered, kind and green, The day that played... Continue Reading →

Another Love by Rossetti

Of her I thought who now is gone so far: And, the thought passing over, to fall thence Was like a fall from spirit into sense Or from the heaven of heavens to sun and star. None other than Love's... Continue Reading →

Crossing the Bar by Tennyson

Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When... Continue Reading →

Ave Atque Vale by Swinburne

Swinburne heard mistakenly that Baudelaire had died, and produced the following poem 'In Memory of Charles Baudelaire'. Baudelaire died in Paris, on the 31st August, 1867 at only aged 46. Nous devrions pourtant lui porter quelques fleurs; Les morts, les... Continue Reading →

O ye gods!

O ye gods! I beseech ye not to spare me my youth, but to leave me the virtues of youth - disinterested animosities, disinterested tears! Let me not become a scolding old (wo)man, enviously growling at a younger race of... Continue Reading →

The Angel 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 ne'er beguiled! And I wept both night and day, And he wiped my tears away; And I... Continue Reading →

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