#EnglishWriters
O STIFFLY shapen houses that c… What conjuror’s cloth was thrown a… and raised To show you thus transfigured, cha… Your stuff all gone, your menace a…
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…
Last night a thief came to me And struck at me with something da… I cried, but no one could hear me, I lay dumb and stark. When I awoke this morning
Too far away, oh love, I know, To save me from this haunted road, Whose lofty roses break and blow On a night—sky bent with a load Of lights: each solitary rose,
Yours is the sullen sorrow, The disgrace is also mine; Your love was intense and thorough… Mine was the love of a growing flo… For the sunshine.
Always, sweetheart, Carry into your room the blossomin… Almond and apple and pear diffuse… Soon strews itself on the floor; a… Fresh quivering; keep the sunny—sw…
We are a liars, because the truth of yesterday becomes a l… whereas letters are fixed, and we live by the letter of truth… The love I feel for my friend, th…
The sick grapes on the chair by th… The tassel of the blind swings gen… As a little wind comes in. The room is the hollow rind of a f… Scooped out and dry, where a spide…
It ought to be lovely to be old to be full of the peace that comes… and wrinkled ripe fulfilment. The wrinkled smile of completeness… lived undaunted and unsoured with…
The five old bells Are hurrying and eagerly calling, Imploring, protesting They know, but clamorously falling Into gabbling incoherence, never r…
As a drenched, drowned bee Hangs numb and heavy from a bendin… So clings to me My baby, her brown hair brushed wi… And laid against her cheek;
I wish it were spring in the world… Let it be spring! Come, bubbling, surging tide of sa… Come, rush of creation! Come, life! surge through this mas…
As we live, we are transmitters of… And when we fail to transmit life,… That is part of the mystery of sex… Sexless people transmit nothing. And if, as we work, we can transmi…
When the autumn roses Are heavy with dew, Before the mist discloses The leaf’s brown hue, You would, among the laughing hill…
My world is a painted fresco, wher… Of old, ineffectual lives linger b… An endless tapestry the past has w… The halls of my life, compelling m… The surface of dreams is broken,