#EnglishWriters
When there are so many we shall ha… when grief has been made so public… to the critique of a whole epoch the frailty of our conscience and… of whom shall we speak? For every…
Victor was a little baby, Into this world he came; His father took him on his knee an… 'Don’t dishonour the family name.' Victor looked up at his father
Each lover has some theory of his… About the difference between the a… Of being with his love, and being… Why what, when dreaming, is dear f… That really stirs the senses, when…
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,
The Ogre does what ogres can, Deeds quite impossible for Man, But one prize is beyond his reach, The Ogre cannot master Speech: About a subjugated plain,
Seated after breakfast In this white-tiled cabin Arabs call the House where Everybody goes, Even melancholics
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 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…
Anthropos apteros for days Walked whistling round and round t… Relying happily upon His temperment for getting on. The hundredth time he sighted, tho…
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…
As I walked out one evening, Walking down Bristol Street, The crowds upon the pavement Were fields of harvest wheat. And down by the brimming river
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…
Stop all the clocks, cut off the t… Prevent the dog from barking with… Silence the pianos and with muffle… Bring out the coffin, let the mour… Let aeroplanes circle moaning over…
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…
Now through night’s caressing grip Earth and all her oceans slip, Capes of China slide away From her fingers into day And th’Americas incline