#EnglishWriters
What lovely things Thy hand hath made: The smooth-plumed bird In its emerald shade, The seed of the grass,
All winter through I bow my head beneath the driving rain; the North Wind powders me with sn… and blows me black again; at midnight 'neath a maze of stars
As I was walking, Thyme sweet to my nose, Green grasshoppers talking, Rose rivalling rose: And wing, like amber,
When music sounds, gone is the ear… And all her lovely things even lov… Her flowers in vision flame, her f… Lift burdened branches, stilled wi… When music sounds, out of the wate…
“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…
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…
In sea-cold Lyonesse, When the Sabbath eve shafts down On the roofs, walls, belfries Of the foundered town, The Nereids pluck their lyres
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…
Softly along the road of evening, In a twilight dim with rose, Wrinkled with age, and drenched wi… Old Nod, the shepherd, goes. His drowsy flock streams on before…
If I were Lord of Tartary, Myself, and me alone, My bed should be of ivory, Of beaten gold my throne; And in my court should peacocks fl…
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
Sterile these stones By time in ruin laid. Yet many a creeping thing Its haven has made In these least crannies, where fal…
Now, through the dusk With muffled bell The Dustman comes The World to tell, Night’s elfin lanterns
How large unto the tiny fly Must little things appear!- A rosebud like a feather bed, Its prickle like a spear; A dewdrop like a looking-glass,
I was at peace until you came And set a careless mind aflame; I lived in quiet; cold, content; All longing in safe banishment, Until your ghostly lips and eyes