#EnglishWriters
Love, meet me in the green glen, Beside the tall elm—tree, Where the sweetbriar smells so swe… There come with me. Meet me in the green glen.
He could not die when trees were g… For he loved the time too well. His little hands, when flowers wer… Were held for the bluebell, As he was carried o’er the green.
Oh, the world is all too rude for… Oh, this world is but a rude world… Was there a nook in which the worl… That place would prove a paradise… And there to pluck the blackberry,…
Now summer is in flower and nature… Is never silent round her sultry b… Insects as small as dust are never… Wi’ glittering dance and reeling i… And green wood fly and blossom hau…
Timid and smiling, beautiful and s… She drops her head at every passer… Afraid of praise she hurries down… And turns away from every smile sh… The forward clown has many things…
The morning opens fine, bonny Mar… The robin sings his song by the da… Where the little Jenny wrens cock… Singing morning’s happy songs with… The swallow’s on the wing, bonny…
Tis three years and a quarter sinc… To go aboard a ship through love,… I crossed my native fields, where… And the groundlark left his nest l… The pigeons from the dove cote coo…
The thistledown’s flying, though t… On the green grass now lying, now… The spring from the fountain now b… Through stones past the counting i… The ground parched and cracked is…
Poet of mighty power, I fain Would court the muse that honoured… And, like Elisha’s spirit, gain A part of thy intensity; And share the mantle which she flu…
When in summer thou walkest In the meads by the river, And to thyself talkest, Dost thou think of one ever— A lost and a lorn one
I sleep with thee, and wake with t… And yet thou art not there; I fill my arms with thoughts of th… And press the common air. Thy eyes are gazing upon mine,
March month of 'many weathers’ wil… In hail and snow and rain and thre… And floods: while often at his cot… The shepherd stands to hear the di… Loosd from the rushing mills and r…
The cataract, whirling down the pr… Elbows down rocks and, shouldering… Roars, howls, and stifled murmurs… Hell and its agonies seem hid belo… Thick rolls the mist, that smokes…
Far spread the moorey ground a lev… Bespread with rush and one eternal… That never felt the rage of blunde… Though centurys wreathed spring’s… Still meeting plains that stretche…
’Tis evening; the black snail has… And gone to its nest is the wren, And the packman snail, too, with h… Clings to the bowed bents like a w… The shepherd has made a rude mark…