#EnglishWriters
At last we parley: we so strangely… In such a close communion! It bef… About the sounding of the Matin-b… And lo! her place was vacant, and… Of loneliness was round me. Then…
Come to me in any shape! As a victor crown’d with vine, In thy curls the clustering grape,… Or a vanquished slave: ’Tis thy coming that I crave,
Now the North wind ceases, The warm South-west awakes; Swift fly the fleeces, Thick the blossom-flakes. Now hill to hill has made the stri…
High climbs June’s wild rose, Her bush all blooms in a swarm; And swift from the bud she blows, In a day when the wooer is warm; Frank to receive and give,
Enter these enchanted woods, You who dare. Nothing harms beneath the leaves More than waves a swimmer cleaves. Toss your heart up with the lark,
By this he knew she wept with waki… That, at his hand’s light quiver b… The strange low sobs that shook th… Were called into her with a sharp… And strangled mute, like little ga…
The song of a nightingale sent thr… Low-lidded with twilight, and tran… Tranced with a tender enchantment;… That wins immortality even while p…
Love within the lover’s breast Burns like Hesper in the west, O’er the ashes of the sun, Till the day and night are done; Then when dawn drives up her car -
Judge mildly the tasked world; and… To brand it, for it bears a heavy… You have perchance observed the in… At night when he has quitted the i… He plays diversions on the homewar…
Her son, albeit the Muse’s livery And measured courtly paces rouse h… Naked and hairy in his savage haun… To Nature only will he bend the k… Spouting the founts of her distill…
Long with us, now she leaves us; s… Beneath our sacred sod: A woman vowed to Good, whom all a… The daylight gift of God.
Madam would speak with me. So, no… The Deluge or else Fire! She’s w… My husbandship. Our chain on sile… Time leers between, above his twid… Am I quite well? Most excellent i…
The misery is greater, as I live! To know her flesh so pure, so keen… That she does penance now for no o… Save against Love. The less can… The less can I forgive, though I…
Pitch here the tent, while the old… By the old hedge—side we’ll halt a… It’s nigh my last above the daisie… My next leaf’ll be man’s blank pag… Yes, my old girl! and it’s no use…
A roar thro’ the tall twin elm-tre… The mustering storm betrayed: The South-wind seized the willow That over the water swayed. Then fell the steady deluge