#EnglishWriters
See the sweet women, friend, that… The ever-falling fountain of green… Round the white bending stem, and… Of our most blushful flower shine… To teach philosophers the thirst o…
The old hound wags his shaggy tail… And I know what he would say: It’s over the hills we’ll bound, o… Over the hills, and away. There’s nought for us here save to…
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…
How low when angels fall their bla… Our primal thunder tells: known is… Of music, that nigh throning wisdo… And one false note cast wailful to… Now seems the language heard of L…
1—I In middle age an evil thing Befell Archduchess Anne: She looked outside her wedding-rin… Upon a princely man.
Now the frog, all lean and weak, Yawning from his famished sleep, Water in the ditch doth seek, Fast as he can stretch and leap: Marshy king-cups burning near
His Lady queen of woods to meet, He wanders day and night: The leaves have whisperings discre… The mossy ways invite. Across a lustrous ring of space,
To sit on History in an easy chai… Still rivalling the wild hordes by… Sure, this beseems a race of lagga… Unwarned by those plain letters sc… If more than hands’ and armsful be…
Flowers of the willow-herb are woo… Flowers of the briar berries red; Speeding their seed as the breeze… Flowers of the thistle loosen the… Flowers of the clematis drip in be…
I think she sleeps: it must be sle… Hangs that abandoned arm toward th… The face turned with it. Now make… Sleep on: it is your husband, not… The Poet’s black stage-lion of wr…
Now, this, to my notion, is pleasa… To lie all alone on a ragged heath… Where your nose isn’t sniffing for… But a peat-fire smells like a gard… The cottagers bustle about the doo…
Full faith I have she holds that… To beauty, Common Sense. To see… With her fair visage an inverted s… Bloom-covered, while the underlids… Would almost wreck the faith; but…
O skylark! I see thee and call th… Thy wings bear thee up to the brea… I see thee no more, but thy song i… The tongue of the heavens to me! Thus are the days when I was a bo…
In our old shipwrecked days there… When in the firelight steadily agl… Joined slackly, we beheld the red… Among the clicking coals. Our lib… That eve was left to us: and hushe…
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,