#EnglishWriters
Old ghosts that death forgot to fe… Across the Lethe of the years - These are my friends, and at their… I weep and with their mirth am mer… On a high tower, whose battlements
White in the moonlight, Wet with dew, We have known the languor Of being two. We have been weary
I am getting on well with this ane… When suddenly I recall The many times I have told it of… And all the worked-up phrases, and… Of voice, well timed in the crisis…
In the middle of countries, far fr… Are the little places one passes b… And never stops at; where the skie… Uninterrupted, and the level plain… Stretch green and yellow and green…
There had been phantoms, pale-reme… Of this and this occasion, sisterl… In their resemblances, each effigy Crowned with the same bright hair… White rounded firmness, and each b…
While I have been fumbling over b… And thinking about God and the De… Other young men have been battling… And others have been kissing the b… They have brazen faces like batter…
A petal drifted loose From a great magnolia bloom, Your face hung in the gloom, Floating, white and close. We seemed alone: but another
Oh wind-swept towers, Oh endlessly blossoming trees, White clouds and lucid eyes, And pools in the rocks whose unplu… With who knows what of subtlety
Noonday upon the Alpine meadows Pours its avalanche of Light And blazing flowers: the very shad… Translucent are and bright. It seems a glory that nought surpa…
I had been sitting alone with book… Till doubt was a black disease, When I heard the cheerful shout o… In the bare, prophetic trees. Bare trees, prophetic of new birth…
The eyes of the portraits on the w… Look at me, follow me, Stare incessantly: I take it their glance means nothi… —Clearly, oh clearly! Nothing at…
My close-walled soul has never kno… That innermost darkness, dazzling… Like the blind point, whence the v… In the core of the gazer’s chrysol… The mystic darkness that laps God…
My green aquarium of phantom fish, Goggling in on me through the mist… My rotting leaves and fields spong… My few clear quiet autumn days—I… I could leave all, clearness and m…
Day after day, At spring’s return, I watch my flowers, how they burn Their lives away. The candle crocus
We judge by appearance merely: If I can’t think strangely, I can… So I grew the hair so long on my… That my mother wouldn’t know me, Till a woman in a night-club said,