Madeleine Emerald Thiele

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



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 →

The Death of Little Nell from Dickens’ The Old Curiosity Shop

They moved so gently, that their footsteps made no noise; but there were sobs from among the group, and sounds of grief and mourning. For she was dead. There, upon her little bed, she lay at rest. The solemn stillness... Continue Reading →

The Sleeping Children by William Lisle Bowles

Look at those sleeping children; softly tread, Lest thou do mar their dream, and come not nigh Till their fond mother, with a kiss, shall cry, 'Tis morn, awake! awake! Ah! they are dead! Yet folded in each other's arms... Continue Reading →

The Sphinx by Oscar Wilde

In a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy thinks A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me through the shifting gloom. Inviolate and immobile she does not rise she does not stir For silver moons are... Continue Reading →

Dark Angel by Lionel Johnson

Dark Angel, with thine aching lust To rid the world of penitence: Malicious Angel, who still dost My soul such subtile violence! Because of thee, no thought, no thing, Abides for me undesecrate: Dark Angel, ever on the wing, Who... Continue Reading →

William Allingham The Fairies

Twas the Night before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there. The children were... Continue Reading →

Advent by Christina Rossetti

'Come,' Thou dost say to Angels, To blessed Spirits, 'Come': 'Come,' to the lambs of Thine own flock, Thy little ones, 'Come home.' 'Come,' from the many-mansioned house The gracious word is sent; 'Come,' from the ivory palaces Unto the... Continue Reading →

An Extract from Byron’s Childe Harold

Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break, To separate contemplation, the great whole; And as the ocean many bays will make, That ask the eye - so here condense thy soul To more immediate objects, and control Thy... Continue Reading →

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