#EnglishWriters
Hearken not, friend, for the resou… That did the Poet’s verses once a… We are but gleaners in the field o… Whence the main harvest hath been… The sheaves of glory you are fain…
Latest, earliest of the year, Primroses that still were here, Snugly nestling round the boles Of the cut-down chestnut poles, When December’s tottering tread
When piped the love-warm throstle… And all the air was laden With scent of dew and daffodil, I saw a youth and maiden, Whose colour, Spring-like, came a…
Let me, calm face, remain For ever in these sweet sequestere… Remote from pain, Where leafy laurustinus overlooks The blue abounding main.
How can I tell thee when I love t… In rapture or repose? how shall I… I only know I love thee every way… Plumed for love’s flight, or folde… See, what is day but night bedewed…
Kacelyevo’s slope still felt The cannon’s bolt and the rifles’… For a last redoubt up the hill rem… By the Russ yet held, by the Turk… Mehemet Ali stroked his beard;
SOUL, heart, and body, we thus s… Are not in love divisible and dist… But burn as closely fused as fuel,… They do not love who give the body… The heart ungiven; nor they who yi…
I could not find the little maid… So out I rushed, and sought her f… But not where Pleasure each new f… Heading the maze of reeling merrim… Nor where, with restless eyes and…
‘You ask me why I envy not The Monarch on his throne. It is that I myself have got A Kingdom of my own: Kingdom by Free Will divine
Now let no passing-bell be tolled, Wail now no dirge of gloom; Nor around purple pall unfold The trappings of the tomb! Dead? No, the Artist doth not die…
Patter, patter, little feet, Making music quaint and sweet, Up the passage, down the stair; Patter, patter everywhere. Ripple, ripple, little voice;
WHITE little hands! Pink little feet! Dimpled all over, Sweet, sweet, sweet! What dost thou wail for?
Good-night! Now dwindle wan and l… The embers of the afterglow, And slowly over leaf and lawn Is twilight’s dewy curtain drawn. The slouching vixen leaves her lai…
‘Why am I deemed an enemy of men Who would beyond Life’s limit lif… If they believe that they will liv… How can it be that I have done th… Is it not I who rout the Winter s…
Poor little mite with mottled brea… Half-fledged, and fallen from the… For whom this world hath just begu… Who want to fly, yet scarce can ru… Why open wide your yellow beak?