#EnglishWriters
As with varnish red and glistening Dripped his hair; his feet looked… Raised, he settled stiffly sideway… You could see his hurts were spina… He had fallen from an engine,
Beside the idle summer sea, And in the vacant summer days, Light Love came fluting down the… Where you were loitering with me. Who have not welcomed even as we,
Fresh from his fastnesses Wholesome and spacious, The North Wind, the mad huntsman, Halloas on his white hounds Over the grey, roaring
If I were king, my pipe should be… The skies of time and chance are s… We would inform them all with blan… Delight alone would need to shed a… For dream and deed should war no m…
Fill a glass with golden wine, And the while your lips are wet Set your perfume unto mine, And forget. Every kiss we take and give
His beat lies knee—high through a… A dust of terror and torture, grie… Ghosts that are England’s wonder,… Throng where he walks, an antic of… A sense of long immedicable tears
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,’
Forth from the dust and din, The crush, the heat, the many-spot… The odour and sense of life and lu… The wrangle and jangle of unrests, Let us take horse, Dear Heart, ta…
THE day’s high work is over and d… And these no more will need the su… Blow, you bugles of England, blow… These are gone where all must go, Mightily gone from the field they…
He’s called The General from the… And dash with which he sneaks a bi… And all its fares; challenged, or… Back-answers of the newest he’ll e… He reins his horses with an air; h…
Midsummer midnight skies, Midsummer midnight influences and… The shining, sensitive silver of t… Touched with the strange-hued blaz… And all so solemnly still I seem…
The morning mists still haunt the… The northern summer air is shrill… And lo, the Hospital, grey, quiet… Where Life and Death like friendl… Thro’ the loud spaciousness and dr…
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
Though, if you ask her name, she s… Being plain Elizabeth, e’en let i… And own that, if her aspirates tak… She ever makes a point, in washing… Handling the engine, turning taps…
The Artist muses at his ease, Contented that his work is done, And smiling-smiling!-as he sees His crowd collecting, one by one. Alas! his travail’s but begun!