#EnglishWriters
Mournfully to and fro, to and fro… What did you say, my dear? The rain-bruised leaves are sudden… Asleep still shakes in the clutch… Yes, my love, I hear.
Making his advances He does not look at her, nor sniff… No, not even sniff at her, his nos… Only he senses the vulnerable fold… That work beneath her while she sp…
My little love, my darling, You were a doorway to me; You let me out of the confines Into this strange countrie, Where people are crowded like this…
When the autumn roses Are heavy with dew, Before the mist discloses The leaf’s brown hue, You would, among the laughing hill…
The quick sparks on the gorse bush… Little jets of sunlight—texture im… Above them, exultant, the peewits… They are lords of the desolate was… Rabbits, handfuls of brown earth,…
I wonder if with you, as it is wit… If under your slipping words, that… About you as a garment, easily, Your violent heart beats to and fr… Long have I waited, never once co…
The earth again like a ship steams… The edge of the blue, and the sun… Slowly into another day; slowly th… Vessel of darkness takes the risin… I, on the deck, am startled by thi…
Oh the green glimmer of apples in… Lamps in a wash of rain! Oh the wet walk of my brown hen th… Oh tears on the window pane! Nothing now will ripen the bright…
Her tawny eyes are onyx of thought… Hardened they are like gems in anc… Yea, and her mouth’s prudent and c… Means even less than her many word… Though her kiss betrays me also th…
I wonder, can the night go by; Can this shot arrow of travel fly Shaft—golden with light, sheer int… Of a dawned to—morrow, Without ever sleep delivering us
There are only two things now, The great black night scooped out And this fireglow. This fireglow, the core, And we the two ripe pips
It is stormy, and raindrops cling… The thin sycamores in the playgrou… The heads of the boys move dimly t… The class; over them all the dark… It is no good, dear, gentleness an…
A faint, sickening scent of irises Persists all morning. Here in a j… A fine proud spike of purple irise… Rising above the class—room litter… To see the class’s lifted and bend…
It ought to be lovely to be old to be full of the peace that comes… and wrinkled ripe fulfilment. The wrinkled smile of completeness… lived undaunted and unsoured with…
As a drenched, drowned bee Hangs numb and heavy from a bendin… So clings to me My baby, her brown hair brushed wi… And laid against her cheek;