#English #XXCentury
This valley wood is pledged To the set shape of things, And reasonably hedged: Here are no harpies fledged, No rocs may clap their wings,
Walking through trees to cool my h… I know that David’s with me here… All that is simple, happy, strong,… Caressingly I stroke Rough bark of the friendly oak.
Can I find True—Love a gift In this dark hour to restore her, When body’s vessel breaks adrift, When hope and beauty fade before h… But in this plight I cannot think
“Is that the Three—and—Twentieth,… Marching below, and we still gulpi… From the sad magic of his fragrant… The red—faced old centurion starte… Cursed, battered on the table. “N…
Dust in a cloud, blinding weather, Drums that rattle and roar! A mother and daughter stood togeth… Beside their cottage door. ‘Mother, the heavens are bright li…
Near Clapham village, where field… Saint Edward met a beggar man. It was Christmas morning, the chu… The old man trembled for the fierc… Saint Edward cried, “It is monstr…
Blacksmith Green had three strong… With bread and beef did fill 'em, Now John and Ned are perished and… But plenty remains of William. John Green was a whiskey drinker,
He had met hours of the clock he n… Dumb, dragging, mirthless hours co… Bone—chilling, hungry hours when t… Bequeathing earth and heaven to gh… And will not hear man groan chaine…
There is one story and one story o… That will prove worth your telling… Whether are learned bard or gifted… To it all lines or lesser gauds be… That startle with their shining
His eyes are quickened so with gri… He can watch a grass or leaf Every instant grow; he can Clearly through a flint wall see, Or watch the startled spirit flee
A page, a huntsman and a priest of… Her lovers, met in jealous contrar… Equally claiming the sole parentho… Of him the perfect crown of their… Then, whom to admit, herself she c…
‘Come, surly fellow, come! A song… What, madmen? Sing to you? Choose from the clouded tales of w… And terror I bring to you. Of a night so torn with cries,
Have you spent the money I gave y… Ay, father I have. A fourpence on cakes, two pennies… To a beggar I gave. The lake of yellow brimstone boil…
Sing baloo loo for Jenny And where is she gone? Away to spy her mother’s land, Riding all alone. To the rich towns of Scotland,
Take now a country mood, Resolve, distil it: — Nine Acre swaying alive, June flowers that fill it, Spicy sweet—briar bush,
