#English
Hast thou longed through weary day… For the sight of one loved face? Mast thou cried aloud for rest, Mid the pain of sundering hours; Cried aloud for sleep and death,
The Briarwood. The fateful slumber floats and flo… About the tangle of the rose; But lo! the fated hand and heart To rend the slumberous curse apart…
Midst bitten mead and acre shorn, The world without is waste and wor… But here within our orchard-close, The guerdon of its labour shows. O valiant Earth, O happy year
When the boughs of the garden hang… And the blackbird reneweth his son… And the thunder departing yet roll… I remember the ending of wrong. When the day that was dusk while h…
Silk Embroidery. Lo silken my garden, and silken my sky, And silken my apple-boughs hanging on high;
Wearily, drearily, Half the day long, Flap the great banners High over the stone; Strangely and eerily
Pray but one prayer for me ‘twixt… Think but one thought of me up in… The summer night waneth, the morni… Faint and grey ’twixt the leaves o… That are patiently waiting there f…
Winter in the world it is, Round about the unhoped kiss Whose dream I long have sorrowed… Round about the longing sore, That the touch of thee shall turn
Love is enough: though the World… And the woods have no voice but th… Though the sky be too dark for dim… The gold-cups and daisies fair blo… Though the hills be held shadows,…
Masters in this hall, hear ye news… Brought from over the sea and ever… Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell sin… Holpen are all folk on Earth, bor… Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell sin…
In an English Castle in Poictou.… John Curzon Of those three prisoners, that bef… We took down at St. John’s hard b… Two are good masons; we have tools…
Slayer of the winter, art thou her… O welcome, thou that’s bring’st th… The bitter wind makes not thy vict… Nor will we mock thee for thy fain… Welcome, O March! whose kindly da…
How the wind howls this morn About the end of May, And drives June on apace To mock the world forlorn And the world’s joy passed away
Each eve earth falleth down the da… As though its hope were o’er; Yet lurks the sun when day is done Behind to-morrow’s door. Grey grows the dawn while men-folk…
