#EnglishWriters
Around them boomed the rhetoric of… The smells and furniture of the kn… Where conscience worshipped an aes… And what was unsuccessful was cond… And, at the centre of its vast sel…
Among pelagian travelers, Lost on their lewd conceited way To Massachusetts, Michigan, Miami or L.A., An airborne instrument I sit,
My dear one is mine as mirrors are… As the poor and sad are real to th… And the high green hill sits alway… Up jumped the Black Man behind th… Turned a somersault and ran away w…
Taller to-day, we remember similar… Walking together in a windless orc… Where the brook runs over the grav… Nights come bringing the snow, and… Under headlands in their windy dwe…
Dear, though the night is gone, Its dream still haunts to-day, That brought us to a room Cavernous, lofty as A railway terminus,
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…
Unrhymed, unrhythmical, the chatte… Yet no one hears his own remarks a… Beneath each topic tunelessly disc… The ground-bass is reciprocal mist… The names in fashion shuttling to…
So from the years the gifts were s… Ran off with his at once into his… Bee took the politics that make a… Fish swam as fish, peach settled i… And were successful at the first e…
Warm are the still and lucky miles… White shores of longing stretch aw… A light of recognition fills The whole great day, and bright The tiny world of lovers’ arms.
Let a florid music praise, The flute and the trumpet, Beauty’s conquest of your face: In that land of flesh and bone, Where from citadels on high
Seated after breakfast In this white-tiled cabin Arabs call the House where Everybody goes, Even melancholics
Driver drive faster and make a goo… Down the Springfield Line under t… Fly like an aeroplane, don’t pull… Till you brake for Grand Central… For there in the middle of the wai…
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…
Certainly our city with its byres… The river’s edge, its cathedral, i… Here is the cosmopolitan cooking And the light alloys and the glass… Built by the conscience-stricken,…
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…