Book contents
- Frontmatter
- Contents
- List of Poets and Years
- List of Poets and Volumes
- Preface
- Acknowledgements
- Introduction
- Suggested Further Reading
- Changing Times
- Textual Notes 1836–1850
- 1836
- 1837
- 1838
- 1839
- 1840
- 1841
- 1842
- 1843
- 1844
- 1845
- 1846
- 1847
- 1848
- 1849
- 1850
- Sources – Volume I
- Index of Poets and Sonnet Titles – Volume I
- Index of Poets and Sonnet First Lines – Volume I
- Index of Sonnet Titles – Volume I
- Index of Sonnet First Lines – Volume I
- Frontmatter
- Contents
- List of Poets and Years
- List of Poets and Volumes
- Preface
- Acknowledgements
- Introduction
- Suggested Further Reading
- Changing Times
- Textual Notes 1836–1850
- 1836
- 1837
- 1838
- 1839
- 1840
- 1841
- 1842
- 1843
- 1844
- 1845
- 1846
- 1847
- 1848
- 1849
- 1850
- Sources – Volume I
- Index of Poets and Sonnet Titles – Volume I
- Index of Poets and Sonnet First Lines – Volume I
- Index of Sonnet Titles – Volume I
- Index of Sonnet First Lines – Volume I
Summary
Frederick William Faber (1814–1863)
The Iconoclast
WHENCE comes this sinking heart, these failing powers?
Something hath touched my thoughts: they have no life,
And stir, like sickly things, in idle strife,
And madness haunts me all these midnight hours.
Friend! thou hast done it: thou hast broken down
All mine old images, and didst uncrown
The glorious things that reigned within my heart,
Because thou art more glorious. Hear me, then:—
If ever thou dost love me less, thou art
A curse, a blight, a marvel among men!
The spirit thou wert proud to call thine own,
Still round thy thoughts, a broken wreck, shall cling
And sit, upbraiding thee, a crownless king
In the poor ruined heart that thou wouldst leave so lone.
Absence from Oxford
CITY of God, my best and truest home!
When from thy holy places I depart
By far-off hills and river banks to roam,
I bear thy name about upon my heart.
City of glorious towers! whene'er I feel
The world's rude coldness o'er my spirit steal,
Then dost thou rise to view; thine elmy groves
Vocal with hymns of praise, thine old grey halls,
Where the wan sun of autumn sweetest falls,
Yon hill-side wood the nightingale so loves,
Thy rivers twain, of gentle foot, that pass,
Fed from a hundred willow-girdled wells,
Through the rich meadowlands of long green grass,
To the loud tunes of all thy convent-bells!
- Type
- Chapter
- Information
- The Anthem Anthology of Victorian Sonnets , pp. 70 - 80Publisher: Anthem PressPrint publication year: 2011