#EnglishWriters
What is the end of all sweet thing… Of these dawns and twilights and g… Of the rose that climbs, and the s… Of the breeze that sighs, and the… Dust and ashes and death?
(Sidmouth) Evening upon the calm sweet sea, A little wind asleep, Dim sails that drift as tranquilly As dreams in slumber deep.
The world that thro’ its vale of t… Looks out upon Eternity Has yet one smile for us, and we Still youthful in the count of yea… May add our smiles, and kiss the l…
Roses, I hate you! since you stil… Contentedly, where living love is… Can fling wan fragrance thro’ this… Lift languid petals shimmering 'mi… Where love is not.
Set my hands upon the plough. My feet upon the sod ; Turn my face towards the east, And praise be to God! Every year the rains do fall,
And so we closed the book, wherein… How many words of ecstasy and pain… How oft repeated passion’s deep re… Like ebb and flow of tide, whose e… Upon the hearing of our listening…
I have chosen a hill very solemn a… To shelter me. I have chosen a home very humble a… Where I would be. I have chosen a wind very fragrant…
Oh! that the night were passed, an… Made lovely by the joy of spring, Would flood these sombre clouds wi… Oh! that some hopeful bird would s… And in his tiny feathered throat
I made a little funeral pyre, And on it laid my youthful rhymes, Those thoughts of innocent desire, Dear foolish words of childhood ti… Poor things they were, misspelt an…
The wind has shaken the lilac tree… And scattered their purple bloom, The wind has harassed the honey be… And robbed the flowers of their me… The wind has gathered a host of cl…
Baby, with those solemn eyes And that yellow hair You are very, very wise, Baby dear, I’ll swear! Give me, sweet, your chubby hand,
Without what desolation! mist and… And weeping trees, and roses that… While still in blossom, till the a… Lies low, and speechless, and benu… An early twilight hyies the gentle…
The road that leads to Ledbury Oh! it be such a pretty way. As far as Wales you’ll likely see… Suppose the month be May. The little birds they sing and sin…
Oh! weary ghosts, be still! Sad spectres of long dead delights… Wan spirits of the days and nights Wherein of joy we drank our fill, Lie deep beneath the sod of years.
It is the dawn, that wondrous fate… Of strange desires, of thoughts an… Within the womb of possibihty. A wind new-wakened combs the silke… Lifting the foam hke some unearthl…