#EnglishWriters
Down through the ancient Strand The spirit of October, mild and b… And sauntering, takes his way This golden end of afternoon, As though the corn stood yellow in…
Do you remember That afternoon—that Sunday aftern… When, as the kirks were ringing in… And the grey city teemed With Sabbath feelings and aspects…
O, the fun, the fun and frolic That The Wind that Shakes the Ba… Scatters through a penny-whistle Tickled with artistic fingers! Kate the scrubber (forty summers,
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no regret For all the tumult that had been. The distances were still and green… And streaked with shadows cool and…
Take, dear, my little sheaf of son… For, old or new, All that is good in them belongs Only to you; And, singing as when all was young…
O gather me the rose, the rose, While yet in flower we find it, For summer smiles, but summer goes… And winter waits behind it. For with the dream foregone, foreg…
Out of the poisonous East, Over a continent of blight, Like a maleficent Influence relea… From the most squalid cellerage of… The Wind—Fiend, the abominable—
On the way to Kew, By the river old and gray, Where in the Long Ago, We laughed and loitered so, I met a ghost to-day,
Spring at her height on a morn at… Sails that laugh from a flying squ… Pomp of harmony, rapture of rhyme… Youth is the sign of them, one and… Winter sunsets and leaves that fal…
Behold me waiting-waiting for the… A little while, and at a leap I s… The thick, sweet mystery of chloro… The drunken dark, the little death… The gods are good to me: I have n…
The morning mists still haunt the… The northern summer air is shrill… And lo, the Hospital, grey, quiet… Where Life and Death like friendl… Thro’ the loud spaciousness and dr…
Fresh from his fastnesses Wholesome and spacious, The North Wind, the mad huntsman, Halloas on his white hounds Over the grey, roaring
It’s the Spring. Earth has conceived, and her bosom… Teeming with summer, is glad. Vistas of change and adventure, Thro’ the green land
Gulls in an aery morrice Gleam and vanish and gleam . . . The full sea, sleepily basking, Dreams under skies of dream. Gulls in an aery morrice
Time, the old humourist, has a tri… Of moving landmarks and of levelli… Till into Town the Suburbs edge t… And in the Suburbs you may scent… With Mount Street thus approachin…