#EnglishWriters
Cocooned in Time, at this inhuman… The packaged food tastes neutrally… We never seem to catch the running… But travel on in everlasting night With all the chic accoutrements of…
Isn’t she lovely, “the Mistress”? With her wide-apart grey-green eye… The droop of her lips and, when sh… Her glance of amused surprise? How nonchalantly she wears her clo…
From Bermondsey to Wandsworth So many churches are, Some with apsidal chancels, Some Perpendicular And schools by E.R. Robson
Across the wet November night The church is bright with candleli… And waiting Evensong. A single bell with plaintive strok… Pleads louder than the stirring oa…
When melancholy Autumn comes to W… And electric trains are lighted af… The poplars near the stadium are t… With their tap and tap and whisper… Like the sound of little breakers
The clock is frozen in the tower, The thickening fog with sooty smel… Has blanketed the motor power Which turns the London streets to… And footsteps with their lonely so…
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,…
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
She died in the upstairs bedroom By the light of the ev’ning star That shone through the plate glass… From over Leamington Spa Beside her the lonely crochet
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…
Cut down that timber! Bells, too… Pouring their music through the br… From moon-white church-towers down… Have pealed the centuries out with… Remove those cottages, a huddled t…
Come, friendly bombs, and fall on… It isn’t fit for humans now, There isn’t grass to graze a cow Swarm over, Death! Come, bombs, and blow to smitheree…
The sea runs back against itself With scarcely time for breaking wa… To cannonade a slatey shelf And thunder under in a cave. Before the next can fully burst
The kind old face, the egg-shaped… The tie, discretely loud, The loosely fitting shooting cloth… A closely fitting shroud. He liked old city dining rooms,