#EnglishWriters
I Remember, I Remember I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn;
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…
Our hands have met, but not our he… Our hands will never meet again. Friends, if we have ever been, Friends we cannot now remain: I only know I loved you once,
It was not in the Winter Our loving lot was cast; It was the Time of Roses,— We plucked them as we passed! That churlish season never frown’d
O Lady, leave thy silken thread And flowery tapestrie: There’s living roses on the bush, And blossoms on the tree; Stoop where thou wilt, thy careles…
Let us make a leap, my dear, In our love, of many a year, And date it very far away, On a bright clear summer day, When the heart was like a sun
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,
Love thy mother, little one! Kiss and clasp her neck again,— Hereafter she may have a son Will kiss and clasp her neck in va… Love thy mother, little one!
The lady lay in her bed, Her couch so warm and soft, But her sleep was restless and bro… For turning often and oft From side to side, she mutter’d an…
Ruth She stood breast-high amid the cor… Clasp’d by the golden light of mor… Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.
Sigh on, sad heart, for Love’s ec… And Beauty’s fairest queen, Though ’tis not for my peasant lip… To soil her name between: A king might lay his sceptre down,
Alas, the moon should ever beam To show what man should never see!… I saw a maiden on a stream, And fair was she! I staid awhile, to see her throw
The sun was slumbering in the Wes… My daily labors past; On Anna’s soft and gentle breast My head reclined at last; The darkness closed around, so dea…
She’s up and gone, the graceless g… And robb’d my failing years! My blood before was thin and cold But now ’tis turn’d to tears;— My shadow falls upon my grave,
Oh, heavy day! oh, day of woe! To misery a poster, Why was I ever farrowed, why Not spitted for a roaster? In this world, pigs, as well as me…