#EnglishWriters
‘Mid my gold-brown curls There twined a silver hair: I plucked it idly out And scarcely knew ’twas there. Coiled in my velvet sleeve it lay
What greater thing is there for two human souls, than to feel that they are joined for life—to strengthen each other in all labor, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to ea...
I cannot choose but think upon the… When our two lives grew like two b… At lightest thrill from the bee’s… Because the one so near the other… He was the elder and a little man
Day is dying! Float, o song, Down the westward river, Requiem chanting to the Day, Day, the mighty giver! Pierced by shafts of Time he blee…
“La noche buena se viene, La noche buena se va, Y nosotros nos iremos Y no volveremos mas.” —Old Villancico.
“I grant you ample leave To use the hoary formula 'I am’ Naming the emptiness where thought… But fill the void with definition,… Will be no more a datum than the w…
The world is great: the birds all… The stars are golden fruit upon a… All out of reach: my little sister… And I am lonely. The world is great: I tried to mo…
Should I long that dark were fair… Lacks my love aught that I should… Dark the night with breath all flo… And tender broken voice that fills With ravishment the list’ning hour…
Maiden crowned with glossy blackne… Lithe as panther forest-roaming, Long-armed Naiad when she dances On a stream of ether floating, Bright, o bright Fedalma!
The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the… For view there are the houses oppo… Cutting the sky with one long line… Like solid fog: far as the eye can… Monotony of surface & of form
Spring comes hither Buds the rose . . . Roses wither Sweet spring goes . . . O ja là
You love the roses - so do I. I w… The sky would rain down roses, as… From off the shaken bush. Why wil… Then all the valley would be pink… And soft to tread on. They would…
O bird, that used to press, Thy head against my cheek With touch that seem’d to speak, And ask a tender 'yes’ – Ay de mí, my bird:
Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: They leaned soft cheeks together t… Mingled the dark and sunny hair, And heard the wooing thrushes sing… O budding time!
Your soul was lifted by the wings… Hearing the master of the violin: You praised him, praised the great… Who made that fine Chaconne; but… Of old Antonio Stradivari? –him