#EnglishWriters
Who, then, was Cestius, And what is he to me? - Amid thick thoughts and memories m… One thought alone brings he. I can recall no word
Why do you harbour that great chev… Filling up your narrow room? You never preen or plume, Or look in a week at your full—len… Picture of bachelor gloom!
Yes; your up—dated modern page— All flower—fresh, as it appears— Can claim a time-tried lineage, That reaches backward fifty years (Which, if but short for sleepy sq…
UPON a poet’s page I wrote Of old two letters of her name; Part seemed she of the effulgent t… Whence that high singer’s rapture… —When now I turn the leaf the sam…
At Westminster, hid from the ligh… Many who once had shone as monarch… Edward the Pious, and two Edwards… The second Richard, Henrys three… That is to say, those who were cal…
I LONGED to love a full-boughed… And be as high as he: I stretched an arm within his reac… And signalled unity. But with his drip he forced a brea…
Queer are the ways of a man I kno… He comes and stands In a careworn craze, And looks at the sands And the seaward haze
“OLD Norbert with the flat blue… A German said to be— Why let your pipe die on your lap, Your eyes blink absently?”— —"Ah!... Well, I had thought till…
A Whimsey AH, child, thou art but half thy… Hers couldst thou wholly be, My light in thee would outglow all… She would relive to me.
“Thou shalt be—Nothing.”—Omar Kh… “Tombless, with no remembrance.”—… Dead shalt thou lie; and nought Be told of thee or thought, For thou hast plucked not of the…
In Memory of one of the Writer’s… with Napoleon In a ferny byway Near the great South-Wessex High… A homestead raised its breakfast-s…
Moments the mightiest pass calenda… And when the Absolute In backward Time outgave the deed… Whereby all life is stirred: “Let one be born and throned whose…
‘What do you see in that time-touc… When nothing is there But ashen blankness, although you… A rigid stare? ’You look not quite as if you saw,
‘What are you still, still thinkin… He asked in vague surmise, ’That you stare at the wick unblin… With those great lost luminous eye… ‘O, I see a poor moth burning
I found me in a great surging spac… At either end a door, And I said: “What is this giddyin… With no firm—fixéd floor, That I knew not of before?”