#EnglishWriters
I gaze upon a city,— A city new and strange,— Down many a watery vista My fancy takes a range; From side to side I saunter,
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 swallow with summer Will wing o’er the seas, The wind that I sigh to Will visit thy trees. The ship that it hastens
Unfathomable Night! how dost thou… Over the flooded earth, and darkly… The mighty city under thy full tid… Making a silent palace for old Sl… Like his own temple under the hush…
’Twas in the prime of summer-time An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school: There were some that ran and some…
Look how the golden ocean shines a… Its pebbly stones, and magnifies t… So does the bright and blessed lig… Its own things glorify, and raise… As weeds seem flowers beneath the…
No sun—no moon! No morn—no noon! No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of… No sky—no earthly view— No distance looking blue—
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…
A spade! a rake! a hoe! A pickaxe, or a bill! A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow… A flail, or what ye will— And here’s a ready hand
Author of The Cook’s Oracle, Observations… and The Pleasure of Making a Will. ‘I rule the roast, as Milton says…
Sleet! and hail! and thunder! And ye winds that rave, Till the sands there under Tinge the sullen wave— Winds, that like a demon
’Twas in that mellow season of the… When the hot sun singes the yellow… Till they be gold,—and with a broa… The Moon looks down on Ceres and… When more abundantly the spider we…
It was not in the Winter Our loving lot was cast; It was the time of roses— We pluck’d them as we pass’d! That churlish season never frown’d
"Coming events cast their shadow b… I had a vision in the summer light… Sorrow was in it, and my inward si… Ached with sad images. The touch… Gushed down my cheeks:—the figured…
A poor old king, with sorrow for m… Throned upon straw, and mantled wi… For pity, my own tears have made m… That I might never see my childre… And, may be, madness, like a frien…