#EnglishWriters
The seas of England are our old d… Let the loud billow of the shingly… Sing freedom on her breezes evermo… To all earth’s ships that sailing… The gaunt sea-nettle be our fortit…
Far are those tranquil hills, Dyed with fair evening’s rose; On urgent, secret errand bent, A traveller goes. Approach him strangers three,
Sitting under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), One last candle burning low, All the sleepy dancers gone, Just one candle burning on,
Jagg’d mountain peaks and skies ic… Wall in the wild, cold scene below… Churches, farms, bare copse, the s… In freezing quiet of winter show; Where ink-black shapes on fields i…
When all, and birds, and creeping… When the dark of night is deep, From the moving wonder of their li… Commit themselves to sleep. Without a thought, or fear, they s…
Black lacqueys at the wide-flung d… Stand mute as men of wood. Gleams like a pool the ballroom fl… A burnished solitude. A hundred waxen tapers shine
‘Won’t you look out of your window… Quoth the Fairy, nidding, nodding… ‘Can’t you look out of your window… Quoth the Fairy, laughing softly… But the air was still, the cherry…
Bitterly, England must thou griev… Though none of these poor men who… But did within his soul believe That death for thee was glorified. Ever they watched it hovering near…
I spied John Mouldy in his celler… Deep down twenty steps of stone; In the dusk he sat a-smiling Smiling there all alone. He read no book, he snuffed no can…
Sterile these stones By time in ruin laid. Yet many a creeping thing Its haven has made In these least crannies, where fal…
“Is there anybody there?” said the… Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champ… Of the forest’s ferny floor; And a bird flew up out of the turr…
No breath of wind, No gleam of sun— Still the white snow Whirls softly down Twig and bough
Low on his fours the Lion Treads with the surly Bear; But Men straight upward from the… Walk with their heads in the air; The free sweet winds of heaven,
Grief hath pacified her face; Even hope might share so still a p… Yet, on the silence of her heart, Haply, if a strange footfall start… Or a chance word of ecstasy
In sea-cold Lyonesse, When the Sabbath eve shafts down On the roofs, walls, belfries Of the foundered town, The Nereids pluck their lyres