#EnglishWriters
My life is vile I hate it so I’ll wait awhile And then I’ll go. Why wait at all?
Tender only to one Tender and true The petals swing To my fingering Is it you, or you, or you?
Away, melancholy, Away with it, let it go. Are not the trees green, The earth as green? Does not the wind blow,
Walking swiftly with a dreadful du… He smiled too briefly, his face wa… He jumped into a taxi when he saw… Leaving my alone with a private me… He loves me so much, my heart is s…
In my dreams I am always saying g… Whither and why I know not nor do… And the parting is sweet and the p… And sweetest of all is the night a… In my dreams they are always wavin…
I remember the Roman Emperor, one… Who used to visit for pleasure his… So then they would beg him for dea… Oh no, oh no, we are not yet frien… He meant they were not yet friends…
In the flame of the flickering fir… The sins of my soul are few And the thoughts in my head are th… With a solitary view. But the eye of eternal consciousne…
Happiness is silent, or speaks equ… Grief is explicit and her song nev… Happiness is like England, and wi… Grief, like Guilt, rushes in and…
I do not ask for mercy for underst… And in these heavy days I do not… I do not ask that suffering shall… I do not pray to God to let me di… To give an ear attentive to my cry
There is far too much of the subur… Spiritually not geographically spe… Menacing the greatness of our belo… Propagating their kind in an eight… Now I have a plan which I will en…
Dearest Evelyn, I often think of… Out with the guns in the jungle st… Yesterday I hittapotamus I put the measurements down for yo… It’s not a good thing to drink out…
Coleridge received the Person fro… And ever after called him a curse, Then why did he hurry to let him i… He could have hid in the house. It was not right of Coleridge in…
There is a face I know too well, A face I dread to see, So vain it is, so eloquent Of all futility. It is a human face that hides
The nearly right And yet not quite In love is wholly evil And every heart That loves in part
I longed for companionship rather, But my companions I always wished… And now in the desolate night I think only of the people i shoul…