#EnglishWriters
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,
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…
A rainless darkness drew o’er the… As we lay in our boat with oars un… It seemed neither cloud nor water… And forth of the low black curtain… Thunderless lightning. Scoff no m…
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…
When I would image her features, Comes up a shrouded head: I touch the outlines, shrinking; She seems of the wandering dead. But when love asks for nothing,
Fleck of sky you are, Dropped through branches dark, O my little one, mine! Promise of the star, Outpour of the lark;
From twig to twig the spider weave… At noon his webbing fine. So near to mute the zephyrs flute That only leaflets dance. The sun draws out of hazel leaves
Thus piteously Love closed what h… The union of this ever—diverse pai… These two were rapid falcons in a… Condemned to do the flitting of th… Lovers beneath the singing sky of…
Whate’er I be, old England is my… So there’s my answer to the judges… I’m nothing of a fox, nor of a lam… I don’t know how to bleat nor how… I’m for the nation!
Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in hi… Has earth beneath his wings: from… He views the rosy dawn. In vain t… The fatal web below while far he f… But when the arrow strikes him, th…
Projected from the bilious Childe… This clatterjaw his foot could set On Alps, without a breast beguile… To glow in shedding rascal sweat. Somewhere about his grinder teeth,
Men of our race, we send you one Round whom Victoria’s holy name Is halo from the sunken sun Of her grand Summer’s day aflame. The heart of your loved Motherlan…
Sleek as a lizard at round of a st… The look of her heart slipped out… Sweet on her lord her soft eyes sh… As innocents clear of a shade of s… He laid a finger under her chin,
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…