#EnglishWriters
The lark confinèd in his cage, And captive in his wing, Though fluttering with imprisoned… Forbeareth not to sing. But still the strain, though loud…
Beyond the pasture’s withered bent… Upstanding hop, recumbent fleece, And sheaves of wheat, like weather… A twilight bivouac of peace.
Within the hollow silence of the n… I lay awake and listened. I could… Planet with punctual planet chimin… And unto star star cadencing arigh… Nor these alone: cloistered from d…
There! once again I stand on home… Though round me still there swirls… Leaping athwart the vessel’s track To bid a wanderer welcome back, And though as yet through softenin…
Hail! once again, that sweet stron… Loud on my loftiest larch, Thou quaverest with thy mottled th… Brave minstrel of bleak March! Hearing thee flute, who pines or g…
Look up, desponding hearts! See,… From out her tents behind the scre… And speeds her glittering lances o… Where hostile mists, unconscious,… Roused from their vain security, t…
‘Shepherd swains that feed your fl… ’Mong the grassy-rooted rocks, While I still see sun and moon, Grant to me this simple boon: As I sit on craggy seat,
When for a buonamano Cometh, at break of day, Knock at the terzo piano, A little voice answers, Chi è? ‘I, the facchino, awaiting
Yes, nightingale and cuckoo! it wa… That you should come together; for… Are emblems of the rapture and the… That in the April of our life com… Until we know not which is the mor…
‘Why do I bid the rising gale To waft me from your shore? Why hail I, as the vultures hail, The scent of far-off gore? Why wear I with defiant pride
SHE wanders in the April woods, That glisten with the fallen showe… She leans her face against the bud… She stops, she stoops, she plucks… She feels the ferment of the hour:
Good-bye, old year, good-bye! Gentle you were to many as to me, And so we, meditating, sigh, Since what hath been will be, That you must die.
The Mountains What ails you, Ocean, that nor ne… Find you a bourne to ease your bur… But throughout time inexorable are Never at rest?
Lately, when we wished good-bye Underneath a gloomy sky, ‘Bear,’ you said, ‘my love in mind… Leaving me not quite behind; And across the mountains send
Now upon English soil I soon shal… Homeward from climes that fancy de… And well I know that there will g… No soft foam fawning upon smiling… No scent of orange-groves, no zeph…