#EnglishWriters
What cometh here from west to east… And who are these, the marchers st… We bear the message that the rich… Aback to those who bade them wake… Not one, not one, nor thousands mu…
Day. I am Day; I bring again Life and glory, Love and pain: Awake, arise! from death to death Through me the World’s tale quick…
King’s daughter sitting in tower s… Fair summer is on many a shield. Why weepest thou as the clouds go… Fair sing the swans 'twixt firth a… Why weepest thou in the window-sea…
Had she come all the way for this, To part at last without a kiss? Yea, had she borne the dirt and ra… That her own eyes might see him sl… Beside the haystack in the floods?
It was up in the morn we rose beti… From the hall-floor hard by the ro… It was but John the Red and I, And we were the brethren of Grego… And Gregory the Wright was one
Hear a word, a word in season, for the day is drawing nigh, When the Cause shall call upon us… some to live, and some to die! He that dies shall not die lonely,
Strong are thine arms, O love, &a… Thine heart to live, and love, and… But thou art wed to grief and wron… Live, then, and long, though hope… Live on, & labour thro’ the ye…
Of Heaven or Hell I have no powe… I cannot ease the burden of your f… Or make quick-coming death a littl… Or bring again the pleasure of pas… Nor for my words shall ye forget y…
Summer looked for long am I: Much shall change or e’er I die. Prithee take it not amiss Though I weary thee with bliss.
I once a King and chief Now am the tree-bark’s thief, Ever 'twixt trunk and leaf Chasing the prey.
TRANSLATED FROM THE DAN… It was the fair knight Aagen To an isle he went his way, And plighted troth to Else, Who was so fair a may.
It is the longest night in all the… Near on the day when the Lord Chr… Six hours ago I came and sat down… And ponder’d sadly, wearied and fo… The winter wind that pass’d the ch…
Lo, when we wade the tangled wood, In haste and hurry to be there, Nought seem its leaves and blossom… For all that they be fashioned fai… But looking up, at last we see
There was a lord that hight Malte… Among great lords he was right gre… On poor folk trod he like the dirt… None but God might do him hurt. Deus est Deus pauperum.
Sad-Eyed and soft and grey thou a… Across the long grass of the marsh… Thy west wind whispers of the comi… Thy lark forgets that May is grow… Above the lush blades of the sprin…
