#EnglishWriters
If I could have put you in my hea… If but I could have wrapped you i… How glad I should have been! And now the chart Of memory unrolls again to me
When the wind blows her veil And uncovers her laughter I cease, I turn pale. When the wind blows her veil From the woes I bewail
The darkness steals the forms of a… But oh, the palms of his two black… Inflamed with binding up the sheav… Hours that were once all glory and… And I remember all the sunny hour…
Patience, little Heart. One day a heavy, June—hot woman Will enter and shut the door to st… And when your stifling heart would… Cool, lonely night, her roused bre…
Yours is the shame and sorrow, But the disgrace is mine; Your love was dark and thorough, Mine was the love of the sun for a… He creates with his shine.
Last night a thief came to me And struck at me with something da… I cried, but no one could hear me, I lay dumb and stark. When I awoke this morning
A tiny moon as white and small as… Leans all alone above my window, o… Liquid as lime-tree blossom, soft… She shines, the one white love of…
Love has crept out of her sealéd h… As a field-bee, black and amber, Breaks from the winter-cell, to cl… Up the warm grass where the sunbea… Mischief has come in her dawning e…
Forever nameless Forever unknwon Forever unconceived Forever unrepresented yet forever felt in the soul.
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is si… Taking me back down the vista of y… A child sitting under the piano, i… And pressing the small, poised fee… In spite of myself, the insidious…
Too far away, oh love, I know, To save me from this haunted road, Whose lofty roses break and blow On a night—sky bent with a load Of lights: each solitary rose,
Making his advances He does not look at her, nor sniff… No, not even sniff at her, his nos… Only he senses the vulnerable fold… That work beneath her while she sp…
The shorn moon trembling indistinc… Frail as a scar upon the pale blue… Draws towards the downward slope:… Worn her down to the quick, so she… Along her foot—searched way withou…
Thought, I love thought. But not the juggling and twisting… I despise that self—important game… Thought is the welling up of unkno… Thought is the testing of statemen…
DARKNESS comes out of the eart… And swallows dip into the pallor o… From the hay comes the clamour of… Wanes the old palimpsest. The night-stock oozes scent,
