#EnglishWriters
Past seven o’clock: time to be gon… Twelfth-night’s over and dawn shiv… A hasty cut of the loaf, a steamin… Down to the door, and there is Co… Ruddy of cheek is John and bright…
After long labouring in the windy… On smooth and shining tides Swiftly the great ship glides, Her storms forgot, her weary watch… Northward she glides, and through…
No more to watch by Night’s etern… With England’s chivalry at dawn t… No more defeat, faith, victory—O!… A cause on earth for which we migh…
‘Hark ye, hark to the winding horn… Sluggards, awake, and front the mo… Hark ye, hark to the winding horn; The sun’s on meadow and mill. Follow me, hearts that love the ch…
(from the French of Wenceslas, Du… I cannot tell, of twain beneath th… Which one in grief the other goes… Narcissus, who to end the pain he… Died of the love that could not he…
(Old French) Memories long in music sleeping, No more sleeping, No more dumb; Delicate phantoms softly creeping
By the hearth-stone She sits alone, The long night bearing: With eyes that gleam Into the dream
(After Martial) Bernard, if to you and me Fortune all at once should give Years to spend secure and free, With the choice of how to live,
In seventeen hundred and fifty-nin… When Hawke came swooping from the… The French King’s Admiral with t… Was sailing forth to sack us, out… The ports of France were crowded,…
Riding at dawn, riding alone, Gillespie left the town behind; Before he turned by the Westward… A horseman crossed him, staggering… ‘The Devil’s abroad in false Vell…
Drake he’s in his hammock an’ a th… (Capten, art tha sleepin’ there be… Slung atween the round shot in No… An’ dreamin’ arl the time O’ Plym… Yarnder lumes the Island, yarnder…
O Saint whose thousand shrines ou… And our eyes loved thy lamp’s eter… Dim earthly radiance of the Unkno… Hope of the darkness, light of the… Far off, far off and faint, O gli…
Sitting at times over a hearth tha… With dull domestic glow, My thought, leaving the book, grat… To you who planned it so. Not of the great only you deigned…
Do ye ken hoo to fush for the salm… If ye’ll listen I’ll tell ye. Dinna trust to the books and their… They’re but trying to sell ye. Leave professors to read their ain…
This is the Chapel: here, my son, Your father thought the thoughts o… And heard the words that one by on… The touch of Life has turn’d to t… Here in a day that is not far,