#EnglishWriters
We who are lovers sit by the fire, Cradled warm 'twixt thought and wi… Sit and drowse like sleeping dogs In the equipoise of all desire, Sit and listen to the still
We judge by appearance merely: If I can’t think strangely, I can… So I grew the hair so long on my… That my mother wouldn’t know me, Till a woman in a night-club said,
Fine as the dust of plumy fountain… Across the lanterns of a revelling… The tiny leaves of April’s earlie… Powder the trees—so vaporously lig… They seem to float, billows of eme…
Instants in the quiet, small sharp… Pierce my spirit with a thrust who… Baffles even the grasp of time. Oh that I might reflect them As swiftly, as keenly as they shin…
Noon with a depth of shadow beneat… Shakes in the heat, quivers to the… Half shaded, half sunlit, a great… Glistens purple and golden: the fl… Cool in their panniers of snow: si…
Many are the doors of the spirit t… Into the inmost shrine: And I count the gates of the temp… Since the god of the place is God… And these are the gates that God…
While I have been fumbling over b… And thinking about God and the De… Other young men have been battling… And others have been kissing the b… They have brazen faces like batter…
I had been sitting alone with book… Till doubt was a black disease, When I heard the cheerful shout o… In the bare, prophetic trees. Bare trees, prophetic of new birth…
White in the moonlight, Wet with dew, We have known the languor Of being two. We have been weary
Old ghosts that death forgot to fe… Across the Lethe of the years - These are my friends, and at their… I weep and with their mirth am mer… On a high tower, whose battlements
Books and a coloured skein of thou… And magic words lay ripening in my… Till their much-whispered music tu… Whose subtlest power was all in my… These things were mine, and they w…
HOW clear under the trees, How softly the music flows, Rippling from one still pool to an… Into the lake of silence.
A petal drifted loose From a great magnolia bloom, Your face hung in the gloom, Floating, white and close. We seemed alone: but another
Dear absurd child—too dear to my c… God made your soul for pleasure, n… It cleaves no way, but angled broa… Impinges with a slabby-bellied sou… Full upon life, and on the rind of…
My close-walled soul has never kno… That innermost darkness, dazzling… Like the blind point, whence the v… In the core of the gazer’s chrysol… The mystic darkness that laps God…