#EnglishWriters
“Farewell to barn and stack and tr… Farewell to Severn shore. Terence, look your last at me, For I come home no more. ”The sun burns on the half-mown hi…
“Here the hangman stops his cart: Now the best of friends must part. Fare you well, for ill fare I: Live, lads, and I will die. ”Oh, at home had I but stayed
Say, lad, have you things to do? Quick then, while your day’s at pr… Quick, and if 'tis work for two, Here am I man: now’s your time. Send me now, and I shall go;
The Sun at noon to higher air, Unharnessing the silver Pair That late before his chariot swam, Rides on the gold wool of the Ram… So braver notes the storm-cock sin…
Farewell to a name and a number Recalled again To darkness and silence and slumbe… In blood and pain. So ceases and turns to the thing
Star and coronal and bell April underfoot renews, And the hope of man as well Flowers among the morning dews. Now the old come out to look,
At the door of my own little hovel… Reading a novel I sat; And as I was reading the novel A gnat flew away with my hat. As fast as a fraudulent banker
Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hil… What spires, what farms are those? That is the land of lost content,
Here dead we lie Because we did not choose To live and shame the land From which we sprung. Life, to be sure,
Shot? so quick, so clean an ending… Oh that was right, lad, that was b… Yours was not an ill for mending, 'Twas best to take it to the grave… Oh you had forethought, you could…
If truth in hearts that perish Could move the powers on high, I think the love I bear you Should make you not to die. Sure, sure, if stedfast meaning,
The laws of God, the laws of man, He may keep that will and can; Not I: let God and man decree Laws for themselves and not for me… And if my ways are not as theirs
Wake not for the world-heard thund… Nor the chimes that earthquakes to… Stars may plot in heaven with plan… Lightning rive the rock of granite… Tempest tread the oakwood under,
He stood, and heard the steeple Sprinkle the quarters on the morni… One, two, three, four, to market-p… It tossed them down. Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour…
O thou that from thy mansion Through time and place to roam, Dost send abroad thy children, And then dost call them home, That men and tribes and nations