#EnglishWriters
Of men he would have raised to lig… In soul he conquered with those ne… His country’s pride and her abasem… The Man of England circled by the…
What say you, critic, now you have… An author and maternal?—in this tr… (To quote you) of poor hollow folk… On instruments as like as drum to… You snarled tut-tut for welcome to…
Bright Sirius! that when Orion pa… To dotlings under moonlight still… With cheerful fervour of a warrior… Who holds in his great heart the b… Unquenched of flame though swift t…
Or shall we run with Artemis Or yield the breast to Aphrodite? Both are mighty; Both give bliss; Each can torture if divided;
There were three maidens met on th… The sun was down, the night was la… And two sang loud with the birds o… O the nightingale is merry with it… Said they to the youngest, Why wa…
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…
The day that is the night of days, With cannon-fire for sun ablaze We spy from any billow’s lift; And England still this tidal drif… Would she to sainted forethought v…
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…
How smiles he at a generation rank… In gloomy noddings over life! The… Not he to feed upon a breast untha… Or eye a beauteous face in a crack… But he can spy that little twist o…
Follow me, follow me, Over brake and under tree, Thro’ the bosky tanglery, Brushwood and bramble! Follow me, follow me,
Take thy lute and sing By the ruined castle walls, Where the torrent-foam falls, And long weeds wave: Take thy lute and sing,
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…
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…
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
Carols nature, counsel men. Different notes as rook from wren Hear we when our steps begin, And the choice is cast within, Where a robber raven’s tale