#EnglishWriters
Carry me out Into the wind and the sunshine, Into the beautiful world. O, the wonder, the spell of the st… The stature and strength of the ho…
Not to the staring Day, For all the importunate questionin… In his big, violent voice, Shall those mild things of bulk an… The Trees—God’s sentinels
One with the ruined sunset, The strange forsaken sands, What is it waits, and wanders, And signs with desparate hands? What is it calls in the twilight -
Like as a flamelet blanketed in sm… So through the anaesthetic shows m… So flashes and so fades my thought… With the strong stupor that I hea… And sicken at, it is so foully swe…
‘As like the Woman as you can’ - (Thus the New Adam was beguiled)… ‘So shall you touch the Perfect M… (God in the Garden heard and smil… ‘Your father perished with his day…
O, Time and Change, they range an… From sunshine round to thunder! - They glance and go as the great wi… And the best of our dreams drive u… For Time and Change estrange, est…
In the waste hour Between to-day and yesterday We watched, while on my arm - Living flesh of her flesh, bone of… Dabbled in sweat the sacred head
It came with the threat of a wanin… And the wail of an ebbing tide, But many a woman has lived for les… And many a man has died; For life upon life took hold and p…
Do you remember That afternoon—that Sunday aftern… When, as the kirks were ringing in… And the grey city teemed With Sabbath feelings and aspects…
Here they trysted, here they stray… In the leafage dewy and boon, Many a man and many a maid, And the morn was merry June. ‘Death is fleet, Life is sweet,’
Take, dear, my little sheaf of son… For, old or new, All that is good in them belongs Only to you; And, singing as when all was young…
Let us be drunk, and for a while f… Forget, and, ceasing even from reg… Live without reason and despite of… As in a dream preposterous and sub… Where place and hour and means for…
SINCE those we love and those we… With all things mean and all thing… Pass in a desperate disarray Over the hills and far away: It must be, Dear, that, late or s…
Was I a Samurai renowned, Two-sworded, fierce, immense of bo… A histrion angular and profound? A priest? a porter?—Child, althou… I have forgotten clean, I know
Two and thirty is the ploughman. He’s a man of gallant inches, And his hair is close and curly, And his beard; But his face is wan and sunken,