#English #XXCentury
I remember, Ma’am, a frosty morni… When I was five years old and bro… Marching solemnly upstairs with th… Like an angel of doom; knocked gen… “Father, the Times has a black bo…
‘But that was nothing to what thin… From the sea—caves of Criccieth y… ‘What were they? Mermaids? Dragon… ‘Nothing at all of any things like… ‘What were they, then?’
Where is the landlord of old Hawk… And what of Master Straddler this… He’s along in the tap—room with br… And ten bold companions all drinki… Where is the daughter of old Hawk…
To bring the dead to life Is no great magic. Few are wholly dead: Blow on a dead man’s embers And a live flame will start.
Now I begin to know at last, These nights when I sit down to r… The form and measure of that vast God we call Poetry, he who stoops And leaps me through his paper hoo…
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
Lost manor where I walk continual… A ghost, while yet in woman’s fles… Up your broad stairs mounting with… And gliding steadfast down your co… I come by nightly custom to this r…
To the woods, to the woods is the… In his grotto the maiden sits alon… She gazes up with a weary smile At the rafter—hanging crocodile, The slowly swinging crocodile.
Though I am an old man With my bones very brittle, Though I am a poor old man Worth very little, Yet I suck at my long pipe
Old Mr. Philosopher Comes for Ben and Claire, An ugly man, a tall man, With bright—red hair. The books that he’s written
The vague sea thuds against the ma… And from their fragments age-long… Pebbles like flowers. Or the vague weather wanders in th… And up spring flowers with coloure…
Penthesileia, dead of profuse wond… Was despoiled of her arms by Prin… Who, for love of that fierce white… Necrophily on her committed In the public view.
On the eighth day God died; his b… That had been shut so long flew op… So Adam’s too in a dismay like de… But the world still rolled on arou… Instinct with all those lesser pow…
As I walked out one harvest night About the stroke of One, The Moon attained to her full hei… Stood beaming like the Sun. She exorcised the ghostly wheat
Cherries of the night are riper Than the cherries pluckt at noon Gather to your fairy piper When he pipes his magic tune: Merry, merry,
