#EnglishWriters
Down by the Sutlej shore, Where sound the trumpet and the wi… At winter’s eve did come A gaunt old northern lion, at whos… The myriad howlers of thy wilds ar…
As one doth touch a flower wherein… Trembles to fall, as one unplaits… Of morning gossamer, so tenderly My spirit touches thine. Yet, dau… And fair, great Launcelot’s might…
And as I mused on all we call our… And (in the words their passionate… Expressing this late world for whi… And prayed) said, lifting up my he… ‘Ne quibus diis immortalibus,’-one
NOR force nor fraud shall sunder… Who north or south, on east or wes… Native to noble sounds, say truth… Freedom for freedom, love for love… For God; O ye who in eternal yout…
Wheel me into the sunshine, Wheel me into the shadow, There must be leaves on the woodbi… Is the king-cup crowned in the mea… Wheel me down to the meadow,
Lo, this is night. Hast thou, oh… Thy countenance, or is thy golden… Shortened, or from thy shining pla… Art thou put down and lost? Neith… Refused thy constant face, nor is…
RETURN, return! all night my la… All night, like it, my wide eyes w… Like it, I fade and pale, when da… Bears witness that the absent can… Return, return.
(In Prospect Of War With Americ… Oh worst of years, by what signs s… So dire an advent? Let thy New-Y… Be night. At the east gate let th… His crown: as thro’ a temple hung…
Oh the wold, the wold, Oh the wold, the wold! Oh the winter stark, Oh the level dark, On the wold, the wold, the wold!
Small sheaf Of withered grass, that hast not y… Thy story, lo! I see thee once mo… And growing on the battle-field, On that last day that ever thou di…
No comfort, nay, no comfort. Yet… In Sorrow’s cause with Sorrow int… Burst not the great heart,—this is… Ah sentence it to suffer, not to d… ‘Comfort?’ If Jesus wept at Beth…
In the most early morn I rise from a damp pillow, tempest… To seek the sun with silent gaze f… And mourn for thee, my lost Isabel.
From the sad eaves the drip-drop o… The water washing at the latchel d… A slow step plashing by upon the m… A single bleat far from the famish… The clicking of an embered hearth…
If Beauty is a name for visible L… And Love for Beauty in the consci… Which when commoving to its highes… Or making that whole part of whole… Itself, feels, like an eye, that i…
O ye who by the gaping earth Where, faint with resurrection, la… An empire struggling into birth, Her storm-strown beauty cold with… The free winds round her flowery h…