#EnglishWriters
All winter through I bow my head beneath the driving rain; the North Wind powders me with sn… and blows me black again; at midnight 'neath a maze of stars
A song of Enchantment I sang me t… In a green-green wood, by waters f… Just as the words came up to me I sang it under the wild wood tree… Widdershins turned I, singing it…
If you would happy company win, Dangle a palm-nut from a tree, Idly in green to sway and spin, Its snow-pulped kernel for bait; a… A nimble titmouse enter in.
“Is there anybody there?” said the… Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champ… Of the forest’s ferny floor; And a bird flew up out of the turr…
The seas of England are our old d… Let the loud billow of the shingly… Sing freedom on her breezes evermo… To all earth’s ships that sailing… The gaunt sea-nettle be our fortit…
THERE is wind where the rose was… Cold rain where sweet grass was, And clouds like sheep Stream o’er the steep Grey skies where the lark was.
Isled in the midnight air, Musked with the dark’s faint bloom… Out into glooming and secret haunt… The flame cries, ‘Come!’ Lovely in dye and fan,
Puss loves man’s winter fire Now that the sun so soon Leaves the hours cold it warmed In burning June. She purrs full length before
Now, through the dusk With muffled bell The Dustman comes The World to tell, Night’s elfin lanterns
When the last colours of the day Have from their burning ebbed away… About that ruin, cold and lone, The cricket shrills from stone to… And scattering o’er its darkened g…
Flee into some forgotten night and… Of all dark long my moon-bright co… Beyond the rumour even of Paradis… There, out of all remembrance, mak… Seek we some close hid shadow for…
Wide are the meadows of night, And daisies are shinng there, Tossing their lovely dews, Lustrous and fair; And through these sweet fields go,
Down the Hill of Ludgate, Up the Hill of Fleet, To and fro and East and West With people flows the street; Even the King of England
It was the Great Alexander, Capped with a golden helm, Sate in the ages, in his floating… In a dead calm. Voices of sea-maids singing
There is a wind where the rose was… Cold rain where sweet grass was, And clouds like sheep Stream o’er the steep Grey skies where the lark was.