#EnglishWriters
I saw the midlands Revolve through her hair; The fields of autumn Stretching bare, And sheep on the pasture
There are four men mowing down by… I can hear the swish of the scythe… Sharp breaths taken: yea, and I Am sorry for what’s in store. The first man out of the four that…
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…
At the open door of the room I st… Hold my hand to catch the raindrop… Arriving grey from the darkness ab… I will escape from the hollow room… And be out in the bewildering dark…
Somewhere the long mellow note of… Quickens the unclasping hands of h… Somewhere the wind—flowers fling t… Stirred by an impetuous wind. Som… All be sweet with white and blue v…
What large, dark hands are those a… Lifted, grasping the golden light Which weaves its way through the c… To my heart’s delight? Ah, only the leaves! But in the w…
I can’t stand Willy Wet—Leg, Can’t stand him at any price. He’s resigned, and when you hit hi… he lets you hit him twice.
THE houses fade in a melt of mist Blotching the thick, soiled air With reddish places that still res… The Night’s slow care. The hopeless, wintry twilight fade…
The five old bells Are hurrying and eagerly calling, Imploring, protesting They know, but clamorously falling Into gabbling incoherence, never r…
Close your eyes, my love, let me m… They have taught you to see Only a mean arithmetic on the face… A cunning algebra in the faces of… And God like geometry
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
The dawn was apple-green, The sky was green wine held up in… The moon was a golden petal betwee… She opened her eyes, and green They shone, clear like flowers und…
We are a liars, because the truth of yesterday becomes a l… whereas letters are fixed, and we live by the letter of truth… The love I feel for my friend, th…
At evening, sitting on this terrac… When the sun from the west, beyond… Departs, and the world is taken by… When the tired flower of Florence… Brown hills surrounding...
The profoundest of all sensualitie… is the sense of truth and the next deepest sensual exper… is the sense of justice.