#EnglishWriters
In uniform behold me stand, The lovely lift at my command. I press the button: Pop, And down I go below the town; The walls rise up as I go down
The gas was on in the Institute, The flare was up in the gym, A man was running a mineral line, A lass was singing a hymn, When Captain Webb the Dawley man…
I am a young executive. No cuffs… I have a Slimline brief-case and… In every roadside hostelry from he… The maîtres d’hôtel all know me we… You ask me what it is I do. Well,…
The last year’s leaves are on the… The twigs are black; the cold is d… To deeps beyond the deepest reach The Easter bells enlarge the sky. O ordered metal clatter-clang!
Walking from school is a consummat… Which route to follow to avoid the… Which paths to find that lead, cir… To leafy squirrel haunts and plopp… For dreams of Archibald and Tiger…
Phone for the fish knives, Norman As cook is a little unnerved; You kiddies have crumpled the serv… And I must have things daintily s… Are the requisites all in the toil…
The sleepy sound of a tea-time tid… Slaps at the rocks the sun has dri… Too lazy, almost, to sink and lift Round low peninsulas pink with thr… The water, enlarging shells and sa…
I remember the dread with which I… Let go with a bang behind me our h… And, clutching a present for my de… Sailed out for the children’s part… Or rather the gathering night. Fo…
Dr Ramsden cannot read The Times… He’s dead. Let monographs on silk worms by ot… Thrown away Unread
Let me take this other glove off As the vox humana swells, And the beauteous fields of Eden Bask beneath the Abbey bells. Here, where England’s statesmen l…
In among the silver birches, Winding ways of tarmac wander And the signs to Bussock Bottom, Tussock Wood and Windy Break. Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches
From Bermondsey to Wandsworth So many churches are, Some with apsidal chancels, Some Perpendicular And schools by E.R. Robson
The heavy mahogany door with its w… Shuts. And the sound is rich, sym… The sun still shines on this eight… With Edwardian faience adornment—… No hope. And the X-ray photograph…
Miss J.Hunter Dunn, Miss J.Hunt… Furnish’d and burnish’d by Alders… What strenuous singles we played a… We in the tournament - you against… Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakn…
We used to picnic where the thrift Grew deep and tufted to the edge; We saw the yellow foam flakes drif… In trembling sponges on the ledge Below us, till the wind would lift