#EnglishWriters
To R.K. Leather (July 16th, 1892.) It happened in that great Italian… Where every bosom heateth with a s… At Rimini, anigh that crumbling s…
When the long day has faded to its… The flowers gone, and all the sing… And there is no companion left sav… Ah! there is one, Though in her grave she lies this…
Morn hath a secret that she never… ’Tis on her lips and in her maiden… I think it is the way to Paradise… Or of the Fount of Youth the crys… The bee hath no such honey in her…
‘These things are real,’ said one,… On black and mighty shapes of iron… On murder, on madness, on lust, on… And on a thing made all of rattlin… ‘What,’ said he, ‘will you bring t…
Crickets calling, Apples falling. Summer dying, Life is flying. So soon over–
All the flowers cannot weave A garland worthy of your hair, Not a bird in the four winds Can sing of you that is so fair. Only the spheres can sing of you;
Yea, let me be ‘thy bachelere,’ ’Tis sweeter than thy lord; How should I envy him, my dear, The lamp upon his board. Still make his little circle brigh…
Go, little book, and be the lookin… Of her dear soul, The mirror of her moments as they… Keeping the whole; Wherein she still may look on yest…
From tavern to tavern Youth passes along, With an armful of girl And a heart full of song. From flower to flower
Two stars once on their lonely way Met in the heavenly height, And they dreamed a dream they migh… With undivided light; Melt into one with a breathless th…
Shadows! the only shadows that I… Are happy shadows of the light of… The radiance immortal shining thro… Your sea-deep eyes up from the sou… Your shadow, like a rose’s, on the…
I am so fair that wheresoe’er I w… Men yearn with strange desire to k… Stretch out their hands to touch m… And women follow me from place to… A poet writing honey of his dear
Summer gone, Winter here; Ways are white, Skies are clear. And the sun
‘We’re going home!' I heard two l… They kissed their friends and bade… I hid the deadly hunger in my eyes… And, lest I might have killed the… Ah, love! we too once gambolled ho…
Primrose and Violet– May they help thee to forget All that love should not remember, Sweet as meadows after rain When the sun has come again,