#EnglishWriters
Staggering slowly, and swaying Heavily at each slow foot’s lift a… With tense eyes careless of the ro… That under jut and jag Of half—built wall and scaffold st…
The bare branches rose against the… Under them, freshly fallen, snow s… Up the hill—slope, over the brow i… Spreading an immaterial beauty to… In the elbow of black boughs it cl…
Time, Time, who choosest All in the end well; Who severely refusest Fames upon trumpets blown Loud for a day, and alone
Love grasps my heart in a net Like the strong roots of a flower; So surely his root is set In my spirit, to hold me with powe… Yet to—night, O forgive me, Dear!
Fir, that on this moor austere, Without kin or neighbour near, Utterest now bleak winter’s moan As if its vext soul were thine own… Unbefriended, placed like thee,
Blacker the night grows ere the da… Keener the cost, and fiercer yet t… But hark! above the thunder and th… A trumpet blowing splendid through… It is the challenge of our dead un…
Come, let us forth, and wander the… The shy, blue dusk of summer tremb… On either side uprising glimmer ho… But me the turbulent babble and vo… For me the wheels make music, the…
At Tiro, in her father’s tower, The young Cristina had her bower, Over blue Bolsena’s lake, Where small frolic ripples break Under a grove of sycamore
O Love of my Love, O blue, Blue sky that over me bends! The height and the light are you, And I the lark that ascends, Trembling ascends and soars,
An Ode Soul of England, dost thou sleep, Lulled or dulled, thy mighty youth… Of the world’s wine hast thou drun… Hast thou sown more than thy hands…
It was nothing but a little neglec… Laurel—screened, and hushed in a h… An old pear—tree, and flowers ming… Yet as I came to it all unawares,… Charged with mystery; and I stopp…
Now is the time for the burning of… They go to the fire; the nostril p… Wandering slowly into a weeping mi… Brittle and blotched, ragged and r… A flame seizes the smouldering rui…
Coloured like Atlantic wave To whose curve the bright air gave Splendour, and the unfathomed blue Mystery of nameless hue; If to others you but shine
Time has stored all, but keeps his… In secret, beyond all our probe or… There flows the human story, vast… And here a muddy trickle smears th… The things our hearts remember mak…
Beautifully dies the year. Silence sleeps upon the mere: Yellow leaves float on it, stilly As, in June, the opened lily. Brushing o’er the frosty grass