#EnglishWriters
“Percussus sum sicut foenum, et ar… —Ps. ci Wintertime nighs; But my bereavement-pain It cannot bring again:
(After passing Sirmione, April 18… Sirmio, thou dearest dear of stran… That Neptune strokes in lake and… With what high joy from stranger l… Doth thy old friend set foot on th…
The ten hours’ light is abating, And a late bird flies across, Where the pines, like waltzers wai… Give their black heads a toss. Beech leaves, that yellow the noon…
In Casterbridge there stood a nob… Wrought with pilaster, bay, and ba… In tactful times when shrewd Eliz… On burgher, squire, and clown It smiled the long street down for…
Sinking down by the gate I discer… And a blackbird tries over old air… But the moon is a sorry one, sad t… For this spot is unknown to that… Did my Heartmate but haunt here a…
There was a stunted handpost just… Only a few feet high: She was tired, and we stopped in t… At the crossways close thereby. She leant back, being so weary, ag…
Had you wept; had you but neared m… Dewy as the face of the dawn, in y… Then would have come back all the… And a new beginning, a fresh fair… But you were less feebly human, an…
WHEN you paced forth, to wait ma… A dream of other offspring held my… Compounded of us twain as Love de… Rare forms, that corporate now wil… Should I, too, wed as slave to Mo…
We two kept house, the Past and I… The Past and I; I tended while it hovered nigh, Leaving me never alone. It was a spectral housekeeping
When moiling seems at cease In the vague void of night-time, And heaven’s wide roomage stormles… Between the dusk and light-time, And fear at last is formless,
I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre—grey, And Winter’s dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The tangled bine—stems scored the…
Here’s the mould of a musical bird… Which over the earth before man ca… There’s a contralto voice I heard… That lodges with me still in its s… Such a dream is Time that the coo…
Somewhere afield here something li… In Earth’s oblivious eyeless trus… That moved a poet to prophecies - A pinch of unseen, unguarded dust The dust of the lark that Shelley…
The sun said, watching my watering… "Some morn you’ll pass away; These flowers and plants I parch… Who’ll water them that day? "Those banks and beds whose shape…
It bends far over Yell’ham Plain, And we, from Yell’ham Height, Stand and regard its fiery train, So soon to swim from sight. It will return long years hence, w…