#EnglishWriters
Winter, some call thee fair, Yea! flatter thy cold face With vain compare Of all thy glittering ways And magic snows
Of all the wind-blown dust of face… Had I a god’s re-animating breath… Thee, like a perfumed torch in the… Lethean and the eyeless halls of d… Would I relume; the cresset of th…
Our tears, our songs, our laurels—… To thee in thy Gethsemane of loss… Stretched in thine unimagined agon… On Hell’s last engine of the Iron… For such a world as this that thou…
Morning comes to little eyes, Wakens birds and butterflies, Bids the flower uplift his head, Calls the whole round world from b… Up jump Geoffrey!
I had no where to go, I had no money to spend: ‘O come with me,’ the Beaver said… ‘I live at the world’s end.’ ‘Does the world ever end!’
The dead arose. Long had they dre… Deep in the grass of the still gra… Of meeting their beloved once more… They knocked at each familiar door… They waited eagerly to see
The world is wide-around yon court… Where dirty little children play, Another world of street on street Grows wide and wider every day. And round the town for endless mil…
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…
Once we met, and then there came Like a Pentecostal flame, A word; And I said not, Only thought,
(TO L. AND H.H.) O you that dwell 'mid farm and fol… Yet keep so quick undulled a heart… I send you here that book of gold, So loved so long;
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…
O sad-eyed man who yonder sits, Face in a book from morn till nigh… Who, though the world should go to… Pores on right through the waning… O is it sorrow or delight
Singers all along the street, Singing every kind of song– One man’s song is honey-sweet, One man’s song is hammer-strong; Yet, however sweet the singing,
Art was a palace once, things grea… And strong and holy, found a templ… Now ’tis a lazar-house of leprous… O shall me hear an English song a… Still English larks mount in the…
My door is always left ajar, Lest you should suddenly slip thro… A little breathless frightened sta… Each footfall sets my heart abeat, I always think it may be you,