#English
HER day out from the workhouse-wa… A grey-haired woman, decent and pr… With prim black bonnet and neat pa… Among the other children by the st… And with grave relish eats a penny…
A scent of Esparto grass—and agai… That hour we spent by the weir of… Watching together the curving thun… Of frothing amber, bemused by the… My mind was as blank as the speckl…
Dark waters into crystalline brill… About the keel, as through the moo… The dark ship moves in its own mov… Of phosphorescent cold moon-colour… And to the clear horizon, all arou…
HE greets you with a smile from f… But never speaks, nor rises from h… Beneath the green night of the sea… The whole world’s waters weighing… The empty wain made slowly over th…
As gaudy flies across a pewter pla… On the grey disk of the unrippling… Beneath an airless, sullen sky of… Dazzled destroyers zig-zag restles… While underneath the sleek and liv…
Stuck in a bottle on the window-si… In the cold gaslight burning gaily… Against the luminous blue of Lond… These flowers are mine: while some… In some black-throated alley’s ste…
“Two rows of cabbages, Two curly-greens, Two rows of early peas, Two of kidney-beans.” That’s what he is muttering,
All day beneath the hurtling shell… Before my burning eyes Hover the dainty demoiselles— The peacock dragon-flies. Unceasingly they dart and glance
We who are left, how shall we look… Happily on the sun or feel the rai… Without remembering how they who w… Ungrudgingly and spent Their lives for us loved, too, the…
And since he rowed his father home… His hand has never touched an oar. All day he wanders on the shore, And hearkens to the swishing foam. Though blind from birth, he still…
Wind-flicked and ruddy her young b… In sunny shallows, splashing them… But when on rippled, silver sand s… And over her the little green wave… Coldly translucent and moon-colour…
I do not fear to die ‘Neath the open sky, To meet death in the fight Face to face, upright. But when at last we creep
THE night I left my father said: “You’ll go and do some stupid thin… You’ve no more sense in that fat h… Than silly Billy Witterling. ”Not sense to come in when it rain…
In each black tile a mimic fire’s… And in the hearthlight old mahogan… Ripe with stored sunshine that in… Poured like gold wine into the liv… Summer on summer through a century…
Somewhere, somewhen I’ve seen, But where or when I’ll never know… Parrots of shrilly green With crests of shriller scarlet fl… Out of black cedars as the sun was…
