#EnglishWriters
The lights of Mesolongi gleam Before me, now the day is gone; And vague as leaf on drifting stre… My keel glides on. No mellow moon, no stars arise;
Tell me your race, your name, O Lady limned as dead, yet as whe… That within this faded frame An unfading beauty wear. Were you ever known to fame,
Hark! In the air, around, above, The Angelic Music soars and swell… And, in the Garden that I love, I hear the sound of Christmas Bel… From hamlet hollow, village height…
Why do I sit within the spell Of eyes like thine, who oft have k… What ’tis in Beauty’s gaze to dwe… And then-to feel alone: Back be remitted to my cell,
Dearest, I know thee wise and goo… Beloved by all the best; With fancy like Ithuriel’s spear, A judgment proof 'gainst rage or f… Heart firm through many a stormy y…
Love, wilt thou love me still when… Steals on the tresses of autumnal… When the pale rose hath perished i… And those are wrinkles that are di… Wilt thou, when this fond arm that…
Behind the curtain, With glance uncertain, Peeps pet Florence as I gaily rid… Half demurely, But, though purely,
Slow Time, that carrieth such a m… From every stage and hostel of the… Do you not weary of the endless ro… And ask how long Life’s journeyin… Still growing burden on your patie…
Behind her rolling ramparts Engla… Impregnable, and girt by cliff-bui… Weaving to peace and plenty, day b… The long-drawn hours. In peace Spring freed her flocks…
Here’s to him that grows it, Drink, lads, drink! That lays it in and mows it, Clink, jugs, clink! To him that mows and makes it,
‘Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, l… Placing her eggs in whatso nest sh… And when, at callow-time, you thin… The sparrow’s stationary chirp, lo… Voyaging voice to glorify the Spr…
Come, let us go into the lane, lov… And mark and gather what the Autu… The creamy elder mellowed into win… The russet hip that was the pink-w… The amber woodbine into rubies tur…
Is life worth living? Yes, so lon… As Spring revives the year, And hails us with the cuckoo’s son… To show that she is here; So long as May of April takes,
Poor little mite with mottled brea… Half-fledged, and fallen from the… For whom this world hath just begu… Who want to fly, yet scarce can ru… Why open wide your yellow beak?
Where violets blue to olives gray From furrows brown lift laughing e… And silvery Mensola sings its way Through terraced slopes, nor seeks… But onward and downward leaps and…