#EnglishWriters
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…
On the way to Kew, By the river old and gray, Where in the Long Ago, We laughed and loitered so, I met a ghost to-day,
Where forlorn sunsets flare and fa… On desolate sea and lonely sand, Out of the silence and the shade What is the voice of strange comma… Calling you still, as friend calls…
Life in her creaking shoes Goes, and more formal grows, A round of calls and cues: Love blows as the wind blows. Blows! . . . in the quiet close
You are carried in a basket, Like a carcase from the shambles, To the theatre, a cockpit Where they stretch you on a table. Then they bid you close your eyeli…
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…
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…
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
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,’
Fountains that frisk and sprinkle The moss they overspill; Pools that the breezes crinkle; The wheel beside the mill, With its wet, weedy frill;
Hist? . . . Through the corridor’s echoes, Louder and nearer Comes a great shuffling of feet. Quick, every one of you,
An ill March noon; the flagstones… An all-round east wind volleying s… St. Martin’s Steps, where every v… Lingers to buffet, or sneap, the p… And in the gutter, squelching a ro…
A DAINTY thing’s the Villanell… Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme, It serves its purpose passing well… A double-clappered silver bell That must be made to clink in chim…
Something is dead . . . The grace of sunset solitudes, the… Of the solitary moon, the pomp and… Of round on round of shining soldi… Patrolling space, the bounties of…
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