#EnglishWriters
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…
‘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…
Coral and clear emerald, And amber from the sea, Lilac-coloured amethyst, Chalcedony; The lovely Spirit of Air
Puss loves man’s winter fire Now that the sun so soon Leaves the hours cold it warmed In burning June. She purrs full length before
Dearest, it was a night That in its darkness rocked Orion… A sighing wind ran faintly white Along the willows, and the cedar b… Laid their wide hands in stealthy…
Said Mr. Smith, 'I really cann… Tell you, Dr. Jones’ The most peculiar pain I’m in’… I think it’s in my bones.' Said Dr. Jones, 'Oh, Mr. Smit…
Upon a bank, easeless with knobs o… Beneath a canopy of noonday smoke, I saw a measureless Beast, morose… With eyes like one from filthy dre… Who stares upon the daylight in de…
I think and think: yet still I fa… Why must this lady wear a veil? Why thus elect to mask her face Beneath that dainty web of lace? The tip of a small nose I see,
A song of Enchantment I sang me t… In a green-green wood, by waters f… Just as the words came up to me I sang it under the wild wood tree… Widdershins turned I, singing it…
When the last colours of the day Have from their burning ebbed away… About that ruin, cold and lone, The cricket shrills from stone to… And scattering o’er its darkened g…
When all, and birds, and creeping… When the dark of night is deep, From the moving wonder of their li… Commit themselves to sleep. Without a thought, or fear, they s…
The seas of England are our old d… Let the loud billow of the shingly… Sing freedom on her breezes evermo… To all earth’s ships that sailing… The gaunt sea-nettle be our fortit…
Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier’s boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are—
Wide are the meadows of night, And daisies are shinng there, Tossing their lovely dews, Lustrous and fair; And through these sweet fields go,
There is a wind where the rose was… Cold rain where sweet grass was, And clouds like sheep Stream o’er the steep Grey skies where the lark was.