#EnglishWriters
To B. T. Dead-tired, dog-tired, as the vivi… Fails and slackens and fades away.… The sky that was so blue before With sudden clouds is shrouded o’e…
Love, you have led me to the stran… Here, where the stilly, sunset sea… Ever receding silently, Lays bare a shining stretch of san… Which, as we tread, in waving line…
Between the showers I went my way… The glistening street was bright w… It seemed that March had turned t… Between the showers. Above the shining roofs and towers
A True Incident of Pre-Revolu… Now the lovely autumn morning brea… In the crowned castle courtyard th… And the ladies on the terrace smil… To the huntsmen disappearing down…
Not in the street and not in the s… The street and square where you we… With shuttered casement your house… Men hush their voice when they spe… I, too, can play at the vain prete…
(From Lenau.) So late, and yet a nightingale? Long since have dropp’d the blosso… The summer fields are ripening, And yet a sound of spring?
Where drowsy sound of college-chim… Across the air is blown, And drowsy fragrance of the limes, I lie and dream alone. A dazzling radiance reigns o’er al…
My student-lamp is lighted, The books and papers are spread; A sound comes floating upwards, Chasing the thoughts from my head. I open the garret window,
I lounge in the doorway and lan… While Tom, Dick and Harry are da… My spirit rises to the music’s bea… There is a leaden fiend lurks in m… To move unto your motion, Love, w…
Ere all the world had grown so dre… When I was young and you were her… ‘Mid summer roses in summer weathe… What pleasant times we’ve had toge… We were not Phyllis, simple-sweet…
Two terrors fright my soul by nigh… The first is Life, and with her c… A weary, winding train of maidens… With forward-fronting eyes, too sa… Upon whose kindred faces, blank an…
They trod the streets and squares… With weary hearts, a little while… When, thin and grey, the melanchol… Clung to the leafless branches ove… Or when the smoke-veiled sky grew…
At Loschwitz above the city The air is sunny and chill; The birch-trees and the pine-trees Grow thick upon the hill. Lone and tall, with silver stem,
(After Heine.) The sad rain falls from Heaven, A sad bird pipes and sings ; I am sitting here at my window And watching the spires of “King’…
Put the sweet thoughts from out… The dreams from out thy breast; No joy for thee—but thou shalt fin… Thy rest All day I could not work for woe,
