#EnglishWriters
Speak not ' whisper not; Here bloweth thyme and bergamot; Softly on the evening hour, Secret herbs their spices shower, Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh,
“Sweep thy faint strings, Musicia… With thy long lean hand; Downward the starry tapers burn, Sinks soft the waning sand; The old hound whimpers couched in…
The abode of the nightingale is ba… Flowered frost congeals in the gel… The fox howls from his frozen lair… Alas, my loved one is gone, I am alone:
When thin-strewn memory I look th… I see most clearly poor Miss Loo, Her tabby cat, her cage of birds, Her nose, her hair—her muffled wor… And how she’d open her green eyes,
Sterile these stones By time in ruin laid. Yet many a creeping thing Its haven has made In these least crannies, where fal…
Black lacqueys at the wide-flung d… Stand mute as men of wood. Gleams like a pool the ballroom fl… A burnished solitude. A hundred waxen tapers shine
Hi! Handsome hunting man, Fire your little gun, Bang! Now that animal Is dead and dumb and done. Never more to peep again, creep ag…
While at her bedroom window once, Learning her task for school, Little Louisa lonely sat In the morning clear and cool, She slanted her small bead-brown e…
When Susan’s work was done, she’d… With one fat guttering candle lit, And window opened wide to win The sweet night air to enter in; There, with a thumb to keep her pl…
Here lies a most beautiful lady, Light of step and heart was she; I think she was the most beautiful… That ever was in the West Country… But beauty vanishes, beauty passes…
As Ann came in one summer’s day, She felt that she must creep, So silent was the clear cool house… It seemed a house of sleep. And sure, when she pushed open the…
Softly along the road of evening, In a twilight dim with rose, Wrinkled with age, and drenched wi… Old Nod, the shepherd, goes. His drowsy flock streams on before…
Thistle and darnell and dock grew… And a bush, in the corner, of may, On the orchard wall I used to spr… In the blazing heat of the day; Half asleep and half awake,
“Once... Once upon a time...” Over and over again, Martha would tell us her stories, In the hazel glen. Hers were those clear gray eyes
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…