#EnglishWriters
When I lie where shades of darkne… Shall no more assail mine eyes, Nor the rain make lamentation When the wind sighs; How will fare the world whose wond…
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
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
Through the green twilight of a he… I peered, with cheek on the cool l… And spied a bird upon a nest: Two eyes she had beseeching me Meekly and brave, and her brown br…
The last of last words spoken is,… The last dismantled flower in the… The last thin rumour of a feeble b… The last blind rat to spurn the mi… A hardening darkness glasses the h…
What lovely things Thy hand hath made: The smooth-plumed bird In its emerald shade, The seed of the grass,
The old Pig said to the little pi… ‘In the forest is truffles and mas… Follow me then, all ye little pigs… Follow me fast!’ The Charcoal-burner sat in the sh…
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…
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?
Wide are the meadows of night, And daisies are shinng there, Tossing their lovely dews, Lustrous and fair; And through these sweet fields go,
It was the Great Alexander, Capped with a golden helm, Sate in the ages, in his floating… In a dead calm. Voices of sea-maids singing
I can’t abear a butcher, I can’t abide his meat, The ugliest shop of all is his, The ugliest in the street; Bakers’ are warm, cobblers’ dark
‘Who knocks? ’ ‘I, who was beauti… Beyond all dreams to restore, I from the roots of the dark thorn… And knock on the door.’ ‘Who speaks? ’ 'I—once was my spe…
Far are the shades of Arabia, Where the Princes ride at noon, ‘Mid the verdurous vales and thick… Under the ghost of the moon; And so dark is that vaulted purple
Upon this leafy bush With thorns and roses in it, Flutters a thing of light, A twittering linnet. And all the throbbing world