#EnglishWriters
At hawthorn-time in Wiltshire tra… In search of something chance woul… An old man’s face, by life and wea… And coloured, - rough, brown, swee… A land face, sea-blue-eyed, - hung…
To-day I think Only with scents, - scents dead le… And bracken, and wild carrot’s see… And the square mustard field; Odours that rise
But these things also are Spring’… On banks by the roadside the grass Long-dead that is greyer now Than all the Winter it was; The shell of a little snail bleach…
One hour: as dim he and his house… As a reflection in a rippling broo… While I remember him; but first,… Empty it sounded. It was dark wit… That brushed the walls and made th…
The glory of the beauty of the mor… The cuckoo crying over the untouch… The blackbird that has found it, a… That tempts me on to something swe… White clouds ranged even and fair…
Some day, I think, there will be… In Froxfield to pick all the blac… Out of the hedges of Green Lane,… Broad lane where now September hi… In bracken and blackberry, harebel…
THE long small room that showed w… Narrowed up to the end the firepla… Although not wide. I liked it. No… What need or accident made them so… Only the moon, the mouse, and the…
As the team’s head-brass flashed o… The lovers disappeared into the wo… I sat among the boughs of the fall… That strewed the angle of the fall… Watched the plough narrowing a yel…
Yes, I remember Adlestrop— The name, because one afternoon Of heat the express-train drew up… Unwontedly. It was late June. The steam hissed. Someone cleared…
THE rock-like mud unfroze a littl… Ran and sparkled down each side of… Under the catkins wagging in the h… But earth would have her sleep out… Nor did I value that thin gilding…
This is no case of petty right or… That politicians or philosophers Can judge. I hate not Germans, no… With love of Englishmen, to pleas… Beside my hate for one fat patriot
The Combe was ever dark, ancient… Its mouth is stopped with brambles… And no one scrambles over the slid… By beech and yew and perishing jun… Down the half precipices of its si…
Harry, you know at night The larks in Castle Alley Sing from the attic’s height As if the electric light Were the true sun above a summer v…
I have come to the borders of slee… The unfathomable deep Forest where all must lose Their way, however straight, Or winding, soon or late;
WHAT does it mean? Tired, angry,… No man, woman, or child alive coul… Me now. And yet I almost dare to… Because I sit and frame an epitap… ‘Here lies all that no one loved o…