#EnglishWriters
O! The spring-time of life is the… And the morning of love is the sea… Ere noontide and summer, with radi… Look down on their beauty, to parc… 0! faint are the blossoms life’s p…
Beyond the sea, beyond the sea, My heart is gone, far, far from me… And ever on its track will flee My thoughts, my dreams, beyond the… Beyond the sea, beyond the sea,
The mountain sheep are sweeter, But the valley sheep are fatter; We therefore deemed it meeter To carry off the latter. We made an expedition;
Long night succeeds thy little day… Oh blighted blossom! can it be, That this grey stone, and grassy c… Have clos’d our anxious care of th… The half-form’d speech of artless…
Milestone: All my troubles disappear, When the dinner-bell I hear, Over woodland, dale, and fell, Swinging slow with solemn swell,—
In life three ghostly friars were… And now three friarly ghosts we be… Around our shadowy table placed, The spectral bowl before us floats… With wine that none but ghosts can…
Hark! o’er the silent waters steal… The dash of oars sounds soft and c… Through night’s deep veil, all for… Nearer it comes, and yet more near… See! where the long reflection gli…
[To the tune of “Turning, turning… RECITATIVE. MR. PAPERST… Jack Horner’s CHRISTMAS PIE… Interpreted to mean the public pur… From thence a plum he drew. O hap…
’Tis midnight: the sky is with clo… The forest-trees bend in the loud-… The rain strongly beats on these t… The lightning pours swiftly its bl… Triumphant the tempest-fiend rides…
The ivy o’er the mouldering wall Spreads like a tree, the growth of… The wild wind through the doorless… A melancholy music rears, A solitary voice, that sighs
Instead of sitting wrapped up in f… With rheumatism in every joint, I wish I was in the English Chan… Just going ‘round the Lizard Poin… All southward bound, with the seas…
SEAMEN three! What men be ye? Gotham’s three wise men we be. Whither in your bowl so free? To rake the moon from out the sea. The bowl goes trim. The moon doth…
O’er bush and briar Childe Launce… With ardent hopes elate, And loudly blew the horn that hung Before Sir Hornbook’s gate. The inner portals opened wide,
—anankta ton pantôn huperbal– lonta chronon makarôn. Pindar. Hymn. frag. 33 Spirit of the days of yore! Thou! who, in thy haunted cave,