#EnglishWriters
THIS is the end of him, here he… The dust in his throat, the worm i… The mould in his mouth, the turf o… This is the end of him, this is be… He will never lie on his couch awa…
(To Sylvia.) My Love, my Love, it was a day in… A mellow, drowsy, golden afternoon… And all the eager people thronging… To that great hall, drawn by the m…
What ails my senses thus to cheat? What is it ails the place, That all the people in the street Should wear one woman’s face? The London trees are dusty-brown
With fruit and flowers the board i… The wine and laughter flow; I’ll not complain—could one expect So dull a world to know? You look across the fruit and flow…
The lion remembers the forest, The lion in chains; To the bird that is captive a visi… Of woodland remains. One strains with his strength at t…
Put the sweet thoughts from out… The dreams from out thy breast; No joy for thee—but thou shalt fin… Thy rest All day I could not work for woe,
The mountains in fantastic lines Sweep, blue-white, to the sky, whi… Blue as blue gems; athwart the pin… The lake gleams blue. We three were here, three years go…
Out of town the sky was bright and… Never fog-cloud, lowering, thick,… Nature dons a garb of gayer hue, Out of town. Spotless lay the snow on field and…
Most wonderful and strange it seem… Who but a little time ago was tost High on the waves of passion and o… With aching heat and wildly throbb… Who peered into the darkness, deem…
“O love, lean thou thy cheek to mi… And let the tears together flow”— Such was the song you sang to me Once, long ago. Such was the song you sang; and ye…
UP those Museum steps you came, And straightway all my blood was f… O Lallie, Lallie!
The east wind blows in the street… The sky is blue, yet the town look… ’Tis the wind of ice, the wind of… Of cold despair and of hot desire, Which chills the flesh to aches an…
Am I waking, am I sleeping? As the first faint dawn comes cree… Thro’ the pane, I am aware Of an unseen presence hovering, Round, above, in the dusky air:
A haunted town thou art to me.<… —Andrew Lang To-day in Florence all the air Is soft with spring, with sunlight… In the tall street gay folks are m…
More blest than was of old Diogen… I have not held my lantern up in v… Not mine, at least, this evil—to c… “There is none honest among all of… Our hopes go down that sailed befo…