#EnglishWriters
The beach was crowded. Pausing no… He groped and fiddled doggedly alo… His worn face glaring on the thoug… The stony peevishness of sightless… He seemed scarce older than his cl…
Kate-a-Whimsies, John-a-Dream Still debating, still delay, And the world’s a ghost that gleam… Wavers– vanishes away! We must live while live we can;
Space and dread and the dark - Over a livid stretch of sky Cloud-monsters crawling, like a fu… Of huge, primeval presences Stooping beneath the weight
Down the quiet eve, Thro’ my window with the sunset Pipes to me a distant organ Foolish ditties; And, as when you change
Exceeding tall, but built so well… Half-disappears in flow of chest a… Moustache and whisker trooper-like… Frank-faced, frank-eyed, frank-hea… And always punctual-morning, noon,…
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
I gave my heart to a woman— I gave it to her, branch and root. She bruised, she wrung, she tortur… She cast it under foot. Under her feet she cast it,
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pol… I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance
Laughs the happy April morn Thro’ my grimy, little window, And a shaft of sunshine pushes Thro’ the shadows in the square. Dogs are tracing thro’ the grass,
She sauntered by the swinging seas… A jewel glittered at her ear, And, teasing her along, the breeze Brought many a rounded grace more… So passing, one with wave and beam…
Chiming a dream by the way With ocean’s rapture and roar, I met a maiden to-day Walking alone on the shore: Walking in maiden wise,
What have I done for you, England, my England? What is there I would not do, England, my own? With your glorious eyes austere,
Bring her again, O western wind, Over the western sea! Gentle and good and fair and kind, Bring her again to me! Not that her fancy holds me dear,
Once on a time There was a little boy: a master-m… By virtue of a Book Of magic—O, so magical it filled His life with visionary pomps
Life is bitter. All the faces o… Young and old, are gray with trava… Must we only wake to toil, to tire… In the sun, among the leaves, upon… Slumber stills to dreamy death the…