#EnglishWriters
Under what spell are we debased By fears for our inviolate Isle, Whose record is of dangers faced And flung to heel with even smile? Is it a vaster force, a subtler gu…
It ended, and the morrow brought t… Her eyes were guilty gates, that l… By shutting all too zealous for th… Each sucked a secret, and each wor… But, oh, the bitter taste her beau…
Once I was part of the music I he… On the boughs or sweet between ear… For joy of the beating of wings on… My heart shot into the breast of t… I hear it now and I see it fly,
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…
Under yonder beech—tree single on… Couched with her arms behind her g… Knees and tresses folded to slip a… Lies my young love sleeping in the… Had I the heart to slide an arm b…
The silence of preluded song - AEolian silence charms the woods; Each tree a harp, whose foliaged s… Are waiting for the master’s touch To sweep them into storms of joy,
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…
There she goes up the street with… And her Good morning, Martin! Ay… Very well, thank you, Martin!-I c… I might just as well never have co… I can’t understand it. She talks…
Angelic love that stoops with heav… To meet its earthly mate; Heroic love that to its sphere’s e… Can dare to join its fate With one beloved devoted human hea…
I am not of those miserable males Who sniff at vice and, daring not… Do therefore hope for heaven. I t… Of all my deeds. The wind that fi… Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I…
Fleck of sky you are, Dropped through branches dark, O my little one, mine! Promise of the star, Outpour of the lark;
It chanced his lips did meet her f… She had no blush, but slanted down… Shamed nature, then, confesses lov… And most she punishes the tender f… Who will believe what honours her…
As Puritans they prominently wax, And none more kindly gives and tak… Strong psalmic chanting, like to n… They join to thunderings of their… But naughtiness, with hoggery, not…
What may the woman labour to confe… There is about her mouth a nervous… 'Tis something to be told, or hidd… I get a glimpse of hell in this mi… She has desires of touch, as if to…
There stands a singer in the stree… He has an audience motley and meet… Above him lowers the London night… And around the lamps are flaring b… His minstrelsy may be unchaste -