#EnglishWriters
The peril of fair faces all his da… No man shall 'scape: be it for joy… Each is the thrall of some predest… Divinely doomed to work his overth… Transiently fair, as flowers in ga…
The beauty of this rainy day, All silver-green and dripping gray… Has stolen quite my heart away From all the tasks I meant to do, Made me forget the resolute blue
May is back, and You and I Are at the stream again— The leaves are out, And all about The building birds begin
I meant to do my work to—day— But a brown bird sang in the apple… And a butterfly flitted across the… And all the leaves were calling me… And the wind went sighing over the…
The valiant girls—of them I sing— Who daily to their business go, Happy as larks, and fresh as sprin… They are the bravest things I kno… At eight, from out my lazy tower,
On drives the road-another mile! a… Time’s horses gallop down the less… O why such haste, with nothing at… Fain are we all, grim driver, to d… And stretch with lingering feet th…
I thought, before my sunlit twenti… That I knew Love, and Death that… And my young broken heart in littl… Dew-like, I poured, and waited fo… Wildly-and waited-being then ninet…
(January 19, 1909) Poet of doom, dementia, and death, Of beauty singing in a charnel hou… Like the lost soul of a poor moon-… With too much loving of some lord…
How fast the year is going by! Love, it will be September soon; O let us make the best of June. Already, love, it is July; The rose and honeysuckle go,
To Irma, Not all my treasure hath the bandi… Locked in his glimmering caverns o… Fair women dead and friendships of… And noble dreams that had to end a…
The woods we used to walk, my love… Are woods no more, But’ villas’ now with sounding nam… All name and door. The pond, where, early on in Marc…
Bees make their honey out of colou… Through the June day, with all it… Heather of breezy hills, and idle… Brushing soft doors of every bloss… Filling gold thighs in drowsy ravi…
Is it your face I see, your voice… Your face, your voice, again after… O is your cheek once more against… And is this blessed rain, angel, y… You have come back,-how strange-ou…
Spake the Lord Christ-'I will ar… It seemed a saying void and vain– How shall a dead man rise again!- Vain as our tears, vain as our cri… Not one of all the little band
Why should I ask perfection of th… That have so little of mine own to… That thou art beautiful from head… Is that, beloved, such a little th… That I should ask more of thee, a…