#EnglishWriters
(To the Sweet Memory of Lucy Hin… Say not—'She once was fair;' beca… Have changed her beauty to a holie… No girl hath such a lovely face as… That hoards the sweets of many a v…
Men say—beyond the western seas The happy isles no longer glow, No sailor sights Hesperides, All that was long ago. No longer in a glittering morn
I had no heart to join the dance, I danced it all so long ago– Ah! light-winged music out of Fra… Let other feet glide to and fro, Weaving new patterns of romance
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…
Fly, little note, And know no rest Till warm you lie Within that nest Which is her breast;
(WESTMINSTER, OCTOBER 12,… Great man of song, whose glorious… Within the lap of death sleeps wel… Down the dark road, seeking the de… Thy faithful, fearless, shining so…
To James Ashcroft Noble, Poet and Critic, a small acknowle… unforgotten kindness Inscriptions Poet, a truce to your song!
When winter comes and takes away t… And all the singing of sweet birds… The warm and honeyed world lost de… Still, independent of the summer s… In vain, with sullen roar,
When leaf and flower are newly mad… And bird and butterfly and bee Are at their summer posts again; When all is ready, lo! ’tis she, Suddenly there after soft rain–
(_Ballade a double refrain_) Marshal of France, yet still the… Comrade at arms, on your bronzed c… The soldier’s kiss, and drop the s… Brother by brother fought we in th…
A caravan from China comes; For miles it sweetens all the a… With fragrant silks and dreaming g… Attar and myrrh— A caravan from China comes.
Why did you go away without one wo… Wave of the hand, or token of good… Nor leave some message for me with… Some sign to find you by; Some stray of blossom on the winte…
Down where the unconquered river s… One strong free thing within a pri… I drew me with my sacred grief apa… That it might look that spacious j… And as I mused, lo! Dante walked…
Waiting in the woodland, watching… Thinking every leaf that stirs the… Thinking every whisper the rustle… How my heart goes up and up, and t… First it is a squirrel, then it is…
(TO EDMUND GOSSE) Still towards the steep Parnassia… The moon-led pilgrims wend, Ah, who of all that start to-day Shall ever reach the end?