#EnglishWriters
There is May in books forever; May will part from Spenser never; May’s in Milton, May’s in Prior, May’s in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer; May’s in all the Italian books:—
Open the window, and let the air Freshly blow upon face and hair, And fill the room, as it fills the… With the breath of the rain’s swee… Hark! the burthen, swift and prone…
Reader! what soul that laoves a ve… The spring return, nor glow like y… Hear the quick birds, and see the… Nor long to utter his melodious wi… This more than ever leaps into the…
Green little vaulter in the sunny… Catching your heart up at the feel… Sole voice that’s heard amidst the… When even the bees lag at the summ… And you, warm little housekeeper,…
Amazing monster! that, for aught… With the first sight of thee didst… For ever stare! O flat and shocki… Grimly divided from the breast bel… Thou that on dry land horribly dos…
Now sheath’d is the Sword that wa… The Tempest of Slaughter and Ter… Old ALBION her Neighbour all s… For the OLIVE of PEACE blooms… Beam on the day,
It was the pleasant season yet, When the stones at cottage doors Dry quickly, while the roads are w… After the silver showers. The green leaves they looked green…
SLEEP breathes at last from out… My little patient boy; And balmy rest about thee Smooths off the day’s annoy. I sit me down, and think
Robin Hood’s mother, these twelve… Has been gone from her earthly hom… And Robin has paid, he scarce kne… A sum for a noble tomb. The church-yard lies on a woody hi…
It lies before me there, and my ow… Stirs its thin outer threads, as t… The living head I stood in honour… Talking of lovely things that conq… Perhaps he pressed it once, or und…
Huzza, my boys! our friends the D… Our good old friends, and burst th… Aye, and have done it without bloo… Like men, to sense as well as free… The moment, I’ll be sworn, that O…
It flows through old hushed Egypt… Like some grave mighty thought thr… And times and things, as in that v… Keeping along it their eternal sta… Caves, pillars, pyramids, the shep…
Ye brave, enduring Englishmen, Who dash through fire and flood, And spend with equal thoughtlessne… Your money and your blood, I sing of that black season,
We, the Fairies, blithe and antic… Of dimensions not gigantic, Though the moonshine mostly keep u… Oft in orchards frisk and peep us. Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind, Thus to be topped with leaves;—to… Of honour-shaded thought,—an influ… As from great nature’s fingers, an… With her old, sacred, verdurous iv…