#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…
With sanguine looks And rolling walk Among the rooks He loved to stalk, While on the land
The Squire sat propped in a pillo… His eyes were alive and clear of c… But well he knew that the hour was… To bid good-bye to his ancient hom… He looked on garden, wood, and hil…
She is a lady fair and wise, Her heart her counsel keeps, And well she knows of time that fl… And tide that onward sweeps; But still she sits with restless e…
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…
Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, D… Here’s to the bold and free! Benbow, Collingwood, Byron, Blak… Hail to the Kings of the Sea! Admirals all, for England’s sake,
(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,
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…
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’…
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,
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…
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…
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,…
By the hearth-stone She sits alone, The long night bearing: With eyes that gleam Into the dream
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,