#EnglishWriters
I will be faithful to thee; aye,… And Death shall choose me with a… That he did not discern and domici… One his by right ever since that l… I have no care for friends, or kin…
Well, World, you have kept faith… Kept faith with me; Upon the whole you have proved to… Much as you said you were. Since as a child I used to lie
When mid-autumn’s moan shook the n… And sedges were horny, And summer’s green wonderwork falt… On leaze and in lane, I fared Yell’ham-Firs way, where…
Whether to sally and see thee, gir… Or whether to stay And see thee not! How vast the di… Of Yea from Nay Just now. Yet this same sun will…
Just at the corner of the wall We met– yes, he and I – Who had not faced in camp or hall Since we bade home good-bye, And what once happened came back–…
I sang that song on Sunday, To witch an idle while, I sang that song on Monday, As fittest to beguile; I sang it as the year outwore,
Thirty-two years since, up against… Seven shapes, thin atomies to lowe… Labouringly leapt and gained thy g… And four lives paid for what the s… They were the first by whom the de…
Why did you give no hint that nigh… That quickly after the morrow’s da… And calmly, as if indifferent quit… You would close your term here, up… Where I could not follow
Had I but lived a hundred years a… I might have gone, as I have gone… By Warmwell Cross on to a Cove I… And Time have placed his finger o… “You see that man?” —I might have…
Its roots are bristling in the air Like some mad Earth-god’s spiny h… The loud south-wester’s swell and… Smote it at midnight, and it fell. Thus ends the tree
Woman much missed, how you call to… Saying that now you are not as you… When you had changed from the one… But as at first, when our day was… Can it be you that I hear? Let me…
Christmas Eve, and twelve of the… “Now they are all on their knees,” An elder said as we sat in a flock By the embers in hearthside ease. We pictured the meek mild creature…
On Monday night I closed my door, And thought you were not as hereto… And little cared if we met no more… I seemed on Tuesday night to trac… Something beyond mere commonplace
While the far farewell music thins… And the broad bottoms rip the bear… All smalling slowly to the gray se… And each significant red smoke-sha… Keen sense of severance everywhere…
at news of her death Not a line of her writing have I Not a thread of her hair, No mark of her late time as dame i… I may picture her there;