#EnglishWriters
Perfection, of a kind, was what he… And the poetry he invented was eas… He knew human folly like the back… And was greatly interested in armi… When he laughed, respectable senat…
Here war is simple like a monument… A telephone is speaking to a man; Flags on a map assert that troops… A boy brings milk in bowls. There… For living men in terror of their…
Time can say nothing but I told y… Time only knows the price we have… If I could tell you, I would let… If we should weep when clowns put… If we should stumble when musician…
Lady, weeping at the crossroads, Would you meet your love In the twilight with his greyhound… And the hawk on his glove? Bribe the birds then on the branch…
Let me tell you a little story About Miss Edith Gee; She lived in Clevedon Terrace At number 83. She’d a slight squint in her left…
Deftly, admiral, cast your fly Into the slow deep hover, Till the wise old trout mistake an… Salt are the deeps that cover The glittering fleets you led,
We, too, had known golden hours When body and soul were in tune, Had danced with our true loves By the light of a full moon, And sat with the wise and good
For what as easy For what thought small, For what is well Because between, To you simply
Henry Adams Was mortally afraid of Madams: In a disorderly house He sat quiet as a mouse. Mallarmé
Seated after breakfast In this white-tiled cabin Arabs call the House where Everybody goes, Even melancholics
Doom is dark and deeper than any s… Upon what man it fall In spring, day-wishing flowers app… Avalanche sliding, white snow from… That he should leave his house,
At last the secret is out, as it always must come in the end, the delicious story is ripe to tel… to tell to the intimate friend; over the tea-cups and into the squ…
You are the town and we are the cl… We are the guardians of the gate i… The Two. On your left and on your right In the day and in the night,
Looking up at the stars, I know q… That, for all they care, I can go… But on earth indifference is the l… We have to dread from man or beast… How should we like it were stars t…
Sharp and silent in the Clear October lighting Of a Sunday morning The great city lies; And I at a window