#EnglishWriters
An Allegory There’s a murmur in the air, And noise in every street— The murmur of many tongues, The noise of numerous feet—
I heard a gentle maiden, in the sp… Set her sweet sighs to music, and… ‘Fly through the world, and I wil… Only for looks that may turn back… ’Only for roses that your chance m…
Along the Woodford road there com… Of wheels, and Mr. Rounding’s nea… Struggles along, drawn by a pair o… With Reverend Mr. Crow and six s… Who ever and anon declare their jo…
My heart is sick with longing, tho… On hope; Time goes with such a he… That neither brings nor takes from… As if he slept—forgetting his old… For, as in sunshine only we can re…
Giver of glowing light! Though but a god of other days, The kings and sages Of wiser ages Still live and gladden in thy geni…
How bravely Autumn paints upon th… The gorgeous fame of Summer which… Hues of all flow’rs, that in their… Trophied in that fair light whereo… Tulip, and hyacinth, and sweet ros…
O’er hill, and dale, and distant s… Through all the miles that stretch… My thought must fly to rest on the… And would, though worlds should in… Nay, thou art now so dear, methink…
Welcome, dear Heart, and a most k… The day is gloomy, but our looks s… Flowers I have none to give thee,… Their sweetness in a verse to spea… Here are red roses, gather’d at th…
‘O breathe not his name!’ —Moore. Thou Great Unknown! I do not mean Eternity, nor Death… That vast incog!
No popular respect will I omit To do thee honor on this happy day… When every loyal lover tasks his w… His simple truth in studious rhyme… And to his mistress dear his hopes…
The Song of the Shirt With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread—
A little fairy comes at night, Her eyes are blue, her hair is bro… with silver spots upon her wings, And from the moon she flutters dow… She has a little silver wand,
Ah me! those old familiar bounds! That classic house, those classic… My pensive thought recalls! What tender urchins now confine, What little captives now repine,
Young ardent soul, graced with fai… Spring warmth of heart, and ferven… And still a large late love of all… Spite of the world’s cold practice… For all these gifts, I know not,…
What is a mine—a treasury—a dower— A magic talisman of mighty power? A poet’s wide possession of the ea… He has the enjoyment of a flower’s… Before its budding—ere the first r…