#EnglishWriters
Down thy valleys, Ireland, Irelan… Down thy valleys green and sad, Still thy spirit wanders wailing, Wanders wailing, wanders mad. Long ago that anguish took thee,
Lover of England, stand awhile an… With thankful heart, and lips refr… They rest beyond the speech of hum… Who served with Nelson and with N…
Whisper it not that late in years Sorrow shall fade and the world be… Life be freed of tremor and tears, Heads be wiser and hearts be light… Ah! but the dream that all endears…
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…
Boys, are ye calling a toast to-ni… (Hear what the sea-wind saith) Fill for a bumper strong and brigh… And here’s to Admiral Death! He’s sailed in a hundred builds o’…
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,
With failing feet and shoulders bo… Beneath the weight of happier days… He lagged among the heedless crowd… Or crept along suburban ways. But still through all his heart wa…
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…
He gave us all a good-bye cheerily At the first dawn of day; We dropped him down the side full… When the light died away. It’s a dead dark watch that he’s a…
Dear Earth, near Earth, the clay… The land we sowed, The hearth that glowed— O Mother, must we bid farewell to… Fast dawns the last dawn, and what…
Praise thou with praise unending, The Master of the Wine; To all their portions sending Himself he mingled thine: The sea-born flush of morning,
O Son of mine, when dusk shall fi… Between a gravestone and a cradle’… Between the love whose name is los… And the young love whose thoughts… Thou too shalt groan at heart that…
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…
Lad, and can you rest now, There beneath your hill! Your hands are on your breast now, But is your heart so still? ’Twas the right death to die, lad,
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…