#EnglishWriters
This empty street, this sky to bla… This air, a little indistinct with… Like a reflection, constitute the… A time traditionally soured, A time unrecommended by event.
Beyond all this, the wish to be al… However the sky grows dark with in… However we follow the printed dire… However the family is photographed… Beyond all this, the wish to be al…
When first we faced, and touching… How well we knew the early moves, Behind the moonlight and the frost… The excitement and the gratitude, There stood how much our meeting o…
In this dream that dogs me I am p… Of a silent crowd walking under a… Leaving a football match, perhaps,… All moving the same way. After a… A second wall closes on our right,
Coming up England by a different… For once, early in the cold new ye… We stopped, and, watching men with… Sprint down the platform to famili… ‘Why, Coventry!’ I exclaimed. ‘I…
The eye can hardly pick them out From the cold shade they shelter i… Till wind distresses tail and main… Then one crops grass, and moves ab… —The other seeming to look on—
If I were called in To construct a religion I should make use of water. Going to church Would entail a fording
I saw three ships go sailing by, Over the sea, the lifting sea, And the wind rose in the morning s… And one was rigged for a long jour… The first ship turned towards the…
I feared these present years, The middle twenties, When deftness disappears, And each event is Freighted with a source—encrusting…
Always too eager for the future, w… Pick up bad habits of expectancy. Something is always approaching; e… Till then we say, Watching from a bluff the tiny, cl…
Walking around in the park Should feel better than work: The lake, the sunshine, The grass to lie on, Blurred playground noises
About twenty years ago Two girls came in where I worked— A bosomy English rose And her friend in specs I could t… Faces in those days sparked
How distant, the departure of youn… Down valleys, or watching The green shore past the salt—whit… Rising and falling. Cattlemen, or carpenters, or keen
Cut grass lies frail: Brief is the breath Mown stalks exhale. Long, long the death It dies in the white hours
Come To Sunny Prestatyn Laughed the girl on the poster, Kneeling up on the sand In tautened white satin. Behind her, a hunk of coast, a