#EnglishWriters
AH, London! London! our delight, Great flower that opens but at nig… Great City of the midnight sun, Whose day begins when day is done. Lamp after lamp against the sky
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 human heart will never change, The human dream will still go on, The enchanted earth be ever strang… With moonlight and the morning sun… And still the seas shall shout for…
_To Two Friends married in the N… (TO. MR. AND MRS. WELCH) Another year to its last day, Like a lost sovereign, runaway, Tips down the gloomy grid of time:
She bore us in her dreaming womb, And laughed into the face of Deat… She laughed, in her strange agony,… To give her little baby breath. Then, by some holy mystery,
Stream that leapt and danced Down the rocky ledges, All the summer long, Past the flowered sedges, Under the green rafters,
Kisses are long forgotten of this… Kisses and words-the sweet small p… That run before the Lord of Love:… Touch of the hand, and feasting of… All tendrilled sweets that blossom…
After the war—I hear men ask—what… As tho this rock-ribbed world, scu… And bastioned deep in the ethereal… Can never be its morning self agai… Because of this brief madness, man…
O rose! forbear to flaunt yourself… All bloom and dew– I once, sad-hearted as I am, Was young as you. But, one by one, the petals fell
Art is a gipsy, Fickle as fair, Good to kiss and flirt with, But marry—if you dare!
Canst thou be true across so many… So many days that keep us still ap… Ah, canst thou live upon remembere… And ask no warmer comfort for thy… I call thy name right up into the…
I saw him in a picture, and I fel… He stood in line, The man ‘for mine,’ A tall silk-hatted 'guy’— Right on the call,
I bring a message from the stream To fan the burning cheeks of town, From morning’s tower Of pearl and rose I bring this cup of crystal down,
My eye upon your eyes— So was I born, One far-off day in Paradise, A summer morn; I had not lived till then,
Simple am I, I care no whit For pelf or place, It is enough for me to sit And watch Dulcinea’s face; To mark the lights and shadows fli…