#EnglishWriters
When buds of palm do burst and spr… Their downy feathers in the lane, And orchard blossoms, white and re… Breathe Spring delight for Autumn… And the skylark shakes his wings i…
Take thy lute and sing By the ruined castle walls, Where the torrent-foam falls, And long weeds wave: Take thy lute and sing,
‘Bibber besotted, with scowl of a… Never to join to thy warriors arme… Never for ambush forth with the pr… Dared thy soul, for to thee that t… Sooth, more easy it seems, down th…
He leads: we hear our Seaman’s ca… In the roll of battles won; For he is Britain’s Admiral Till setting of her sun. When Britain’s life was in her sh…
Like to some deep-chested organ wh… Serenely majestic in utterance, lo… Interprets to mortals with melody… The mystical harmonies chiming for… spheres.
He found her by the ocean’s moanin… Nor any wicked change in her disce… And she believed his old love had… Which was her exultation, and her… She took his hand, and walked with…
A satyr spied a Goddess in her ba… Unseen of her attendant nymphs; no… Forthwith the creature to his fell… And looking backward on the curtai… He strove to tell; he could but he…
Yonder’s the man with his life in… Legs on the march for whatever the… Or to the slaughter, or to the mai… Getting the dole of a dog for pay. Laurels he clasps in the words ‘du…
Fire in her ashes Ireland feels And in her veins a glow of heat. To her the lost old time, appeals For resurrection, good to greet: Not as a shape with spectral eyes,
Flat as to an eagle’s eye, Earth hung under Attila. Sign for carnage gave he none. In the peace of his disdain, Sun and rain, and rain and sun,
Earth loves her young: a preferenc… She prompts them to her fruits and… Their beauty with her choicest int… And makes her revel of their merry… As in our East much were it in ou…
1—I In middle age an evil thing Befell Archduchess Anne: She looked outside her wedding-rin… Upon a princely man.
The spirit of Romance dies not to… Who hold a kindred spirit in their… Even as the odorous life within th… Lives in the scattered leaflets an… Mysterious adoration, so there glo…
Not vainly doth the earnest voice… Call for the thing that is his pur… Fame is the birthright of the livi… To noble impulse Nature puts no b… Nor vainly to the Sphinx thy voic…
Ladies who in chains of wedlock Chafe at an unequal yoke, Not to nightingales give hearing; Better this, the raven’s croak. Down the Prado strolled my seigne…