#EnglishWriters
For peace, than knowledge more des… Into your Sussex quietness I came… When summer’s green and gold and a… Over the world in flame. « And peace upon your pasture-lands…
Time gathers to my name; Along the ways wheredown my feet h… I see the years with little triump… Exulting not for perils dared, dow… And weary-eyed and desolate for sh…
Merely the moonlight Piercing the boughs of my may-tree… Falling upon my ferns; Only the night Touching my ferns with silver bloo…
He was a boy of April beauty; one Who had not tried the world; who,… Flamed yet upon the eastern sky, w… Time would have brought him in her… So his young beauty spoke-to prosp…
Sweet in the rushes The reed-singers make A music that hushes The life of the lake; The leaves are dumb,
“Hush!” was my whisper At the stair-top When the waggoners were down below Home from the barley-crop. Through the high window
For peace, than knowledge more des… Into your Sussex quietness I came… When summer’s green and gold and a… Over the world in flame. And peace upon your pasture lands…
Now Love, her mantle thrown, Goes naked by, Threading the woods alone, Her royal eye Happy because the primroses again
Now June walks on the waters, And the cuckoo’s last enchantment Passes from Olton pools. Now dawn comes to my window Breathing midsummer roses,
Beyond my window in the night Is but a drab inglorious street, Yet there the frost and clean star… As over Warwick woods are sweet. Under the grey drift of the town
In the Wheatsheaf parlour I sat t… The story of Chippington street g… The squire, and dames of little de… And drovers with cattle and flocks… And these were all as my creatures…
Morning and night I bring Clear water from the spring. And through the lyric noon I hear the larks in tune, And when the shadows fall
A shower of green gems on my apple… This first morning of May Has fallen out of the night, to be Herald of holiday — Bright gems of green that, fallen…
The barriers of sleep are crossed And I alone am yet awake, Keeping another Pentecost For that new visitation’s sake Of life descending on the hills
The bird in the corn Is a marvellous crow. He was laid and was born In the season of snow; And he chants his old catches