#EnglishWriters
Time gathers to my name; Along the ways wheredown my feet h… I see the years with little triump… Exulting not for perils dared, dow… And weary-eyed and desolate for sh…
God laughed when he made Grafton That’s under Bredon Hill, A jewel in a jewelled plain. The seasons work their will On golden thatch and crumbling sto…
A shower of green gems on my apple… This first morning of May Has fallen out of the night, to be Herald of holiday — Bright gems of green that, fallen…
These hills and waters fostered yo… Abiding in your argument Until all comely wisdom drew About you, and the years were spen… Now over hill and water stays
Now Love, her mantle thrown, Goes naked by, Threading the woods alone, Her royal eye Happy because the primroses again
Black in the summer night my Cotw… Aslant my window sleeps, beneath a… Deep as the bedded violets that fi… March woods with dusky passion. A… Abed between cool walls I watch t…
“Hush!” was my whisper At the stair-top When the waggoners were down below Home from the barley-crop. Through the high window
At April’s end, when blossoms bre… To birth upon my apple-tree, I know the certain year will take Full harvest of this infancy. At April’s end, when comes the de…
Though summer long delayeth Her blue and golden boon, Yet now at length she stayeth Her wings above the noon; She sets the waters dreaming
To Mrs. Thomas Hardy I do not use to listen well At sermon time, I 'Id rather hear the plainest rh… Than tales the parsons tell;
High up in the sky there, now, you… In this May twilight, our cottage… Tenantless, and no creature there… Near it but Mrs. Fry’s fat cows,… Dove-coloured, as is Cotswold. No…
For peace, than knowledge more des… Into your Sussex quietness I came… When summer’s green and gold and a… Over the world in flame. « And peace upon your pasture-lands…
The bird in the corn Is a marvellous crow. He was laid and was born In the season of snow; And he chants his old catches
Wind and the robin’s note to—day— Have heard of autumn and betray The green long reign of summer. The rust is falling in the leaves, September stands beside the sheave…
Now June walks on the waters, And the cuckoo’s last enchantment Passes from Olton pools. Now dawn comes to my window Breathing midsummer roses,