#EnglishWriters
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…
He said no word of her to us Nor we of her to him, But oh it saddened us to see How wan he grew and thin. We said: she eats him day and nigh…
Do not despair of man, and do not… Who are you that you should so lig… Are you not also a man, and in you… Are there not warlike thoughts and… Are you not also afraid and in fea…
Away, melancholy, Away with it, let it go. Are not the trees green, The earth as green? Does not the wind blow,
Tenuous and Precarious Were my guardians, Precarious and Tenuous, Two Romans. My father was Hazardous,
It was my bridal night I remember… An old man of seventy-three I lay with my young bride in my ar… A girl with t.b. It was wartime, and overhead
The pleasures of friendship are ex… How pleasant to go to a friend on… I go to my friend, we walk on the… And the hours and moments like min…
Was he married, did he try To support as he grew less fond of… Wife and family? No, He never suffered such a blow.
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…
Drugs made Pauline vague. She sat one day at the breakfast t… Fingering in a baffled way The fronds of the maidenhair plant… Was it the salt you were looking f…
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
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…
I always remember your beautiful f… And the beautiful kimono you wore When you sat on the couch With that tigerish crouch And told me you loved me no more.
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