#EnglishWriters
The Song of the Shirt With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread—
‘On the east coast, towards Tunis, the Moors still preserve the key of their ancestors’ houses in Spain; to which country they still express the hopes of one day returning and again pla...
I gaze upon a city,— A city new and strange,— Down many a watery vista My fancy takes a range; From side to side I saunter,
I had a gig-horse, and I called h… Because on Sundays for a little j… He was so fast and showy, quite a… Although he sometimes kicked and s… I had a chaise, and christened it…
Still glides the gentle streamlet… With shifting current new and stra… The water that was here is gone, But those green shadows do not cha… Serene, or ruffled by the storm,
Shall I rebuke thee, Ocean, my ol… That once, in rage, with the wild… Thou darest menace my unit of a li… Sending my clay below, my soul abo… Whilst roar’d thy waves, like lion…
The world is with me, and its many… Its woes—its wants—the anxious hop… That wait on all terrestrial affai… The shades of former and of future… Forboding fancies and prophetic te…
The sun was slumbering in the Wes… My daily labors past; On Anna’s soft and gentle breast My head reclined at last; The darkness closed around, so dea…
I saw old Autumn in the misty mor… Stand shadowless like Silence, li… To silence, for no lonely bird wou… Into his hollow ear from woods for… Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn…
Sleet! and hail! and thunder! And ye winds that rave, Till the sands there under Tinge the sullen wave— Winds, that like a demon
What is a mine—a treasury—a dower— A magic talisman of mighty power? A poet’s wide possession of the ea… He has the enjoyment of a flower’s… Before its budding—ere the first r…
Summer is gone on swallows’ wings, And Earth has buried all her flow… No more the lark,—the linnet—sings… But Silence sits in faded bowers. There is a shadow on the plain
It was not in the Winter Our loving lot was cast; It was the Time of Roses,— We plucked them as we passed! That churlish season never frown’d
Most delicate Ariel! submissive t… Won by the mind’s high magic to it… Invisible embassy, or secret guest… Weighing the light air on a lighte… Whether into the midnight moon, to…
Oh, heavy day! oh, day of woe! To misery a poster, Why was I ever farrowed, why Not spitted for a roaster? In this world, pigs, as well as me…