#EnglishWriters
Life in her creaking shoes Goes, and more formal grows, A round of calls and cues: Love blows as the wind blows. Blows! . . . in the quiet close
Crosses and troubles a-many have p… One or two women (God bless them)… I have worked and dreamed, and I’… Of art and drink I have had my fi… I’ve comforted here, and I succor…
His beat lies knee—high through a… A dust of terror and torture, grie… Ghosts that are England’s wonder,… Throng where he walks, an antic of… A sense of long immedicable tears
From the brake the Nightingale Sings exulting to the Rose; Though he sees her waxing pale In her passionate repose, While she triumphs waxing frail,
O, have you blessed, behind the st… The blue sheen in the skies, When June the roses round her cal… Then do you know the light that fa… From her belovèd eyes.
From the winter’s grey despair, From the summer’s golden languor, Death, the lover of Life, Frees us for ever. Inevitable, silent, unseen,
Was I a Samurai renowned, Two-sworded, fierce, immense of bo… A histrion angular and profound? A priest? a porter?—Child, althou… I have forgotten clean, I know
Beside the idle summer sea, And in the vacant summer days, Light Love came fluting down the… Where you were loitering with me. Who have not welcomed even as we,
Spring at her height on a morn at… Sails that laugh from a flying squ… Pomp of harmony, rapture of rhyme… Youth is the sign of them, one and… Winter sunsets and leaves that fal…
It’s the Spring. Earth has conceived, and her bosom… Teeming with summer, is glad. Vistas of change and adventure, Thro’ the green land
Blue-eyed and bright of face but w… Into the sere of virginal decay, I view her as she enters, day by d… As a sweet sunset almost overpast. Kindly and calm, patrician to the…
Where forlorn sunsets flare and fa… On desolate sea and lonely sand, Out of the silence and the shade What is the voice of strange comma… Calling you still, as friend calls…
Thin-legged, thin-chested, slight… Neat-footed and weak-fingered: in… Lean, large-boned, curved of beak,… Bold-lipped, rich-tinted, mutable… The brown eyes radiant with vivaci…
What have I done for you, England, my England? What is there I would not do, England, my own? With your glorious eyes austere,
In the waste hour Between to-day and yesterday We watched, while on my arm - Living flesh of her flesh, bone of… Dabbled in sweat the sacred head