#EnglishWriters
There is nothing to save, now all… but a tiny core of stillness in th… like the eye of a violet.
The new red houses spring like pla… In level rows Of reddish herbage that bristles a… Its square shadows. The pink young houses show one sid…
Between the avenues of cypresses, All in their scarlet cloaks, and s… Of linen, go the chaunting chorist… The priests in gold and black, the… And all along the path to the ceme…
Making his advances He does not look at her, nor sniff… No, not even sniff at her, his nos… Only he senses the vulnerable fold… That work beneath her while she sp…
THE cuckoo and the coo-dove’s cea… Calling, Of a meaningless monotony is palli… All my morning’s pleasure in the s… May-blossom and blue bird’s-eye fl…
Had I but known yesterday, Helen, you could discharge the ach… Out of the cloud; Had I known yesterday you could t… The turgid electric ache away,
Since I lost you I am silence—hau… Sounds wave their little wings A moment, then in weariness settle On the flood that soundless swings… Whether the people in the street
This spring as it comes bursts up… Wild puffing of emerald trees, and… Thorn—blossom lifting in wreaths o… Where the wood fumes up and the wa… I am amazed at this spring, this c…
Delicate mother Kangaroo Sitting up there rabbit—wise, but… And lifting her beautiful slender… gently and finely lined than a rab… Lifting her face to nibble at a ro…
The quick sparks on the gorse bush… Little jets of sunlight—texture im… Above them, exultant, the peewits… They are lords of the desolate was… Rabbits, handfuls of brown earth,…
The morning breaks like a pomegran… In a shining crack of red, Ah, when tomorrow the dawn comes l… Whitening across the bed, It will find me watching at the ma…
Outside the house an ash—tree hung… And at night when the wind arose,… Shrieked and slashed the wind, as… Weird rigging in a storm shrieks h… Within the house two voices arose…
Yesterday the fields were only gre… And now the longest grass—leaves h… Yet her deep footsteps mark the sn… On towards the pines at the hills’… I cannot see her, since the mist’s…
She is large and matronly And rather dirty, A little sardonic—looking, as if d… Though what she does, except lay f… And put up with her husband,
YOU promised to send me some viol… White ones and blue ones from unde… Sweet dark purple, and white ones… Of our early love that hardly has… Here there’s an almond tree—you ha…