#EnglishWriters
My mind is like a clamorous market… All day in wind, rain, sun, its ba… Voice answering to voice in tumult… Chaffering and laughing, pushing f… My thoughts haste on, gay, strange…
Sitting under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), One last candle burning low, All the sleepy dancers gone, Just one candle burning on,
Sterile these stones By time in ruin laid. Yet many a creeping thing Its haven has made In these least crannies, where fal…
Dim-berried is the mistletoe With globes of sheenless grey, The holly mid ten thousand thorns Smoulders its fires away; And in the manger Jesus sleeps
As Ann came in one summer’s day, She felt that she must creep, So silent was the clear cool house… It seemed a house of sleep. And sure, when she pushed open the…
Who said, “Peacock Pie”? The old King to the sparrow: Who said, “Crops are ripe”? Rust to the harrow: Who said, “Where sleeps she now?
If you would happy company win, Dangle a palm-nut from a tree, Idly in green to sway and spin, Its snow-pulped kernel for bait; a… A nimble titmouse enter in.
Here lies a most beautiful lady, Light of step and heart was she; I think she was the most beautiful… That ever was in the West Country… But beauty vanishes, beauty passes…
Dark frost was in the air without, The dusk was still with cold and g… When less than even a shadow came And stood within the room. But the three around the fire,
Down the Hill of Ludgate, Up the Hill of Fleet, To and fro and East and West With people flows the street; Even the King of England
When the rose is faded, Memory may still dwell on Her beauty shadowed, And the sweet smell gone. That vanishing loveliness,
Three jolly Farmers Once bet a pound Each dance the others would Off the ground. Out of their coats
Far are those tranquil hills, Dyed with fair evening’s rose; On urgent, secret errand bent, A traveller goes. Approach him strangers three,
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
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…