#EnglishWriters
With Alfred and St. Louis he dot… Grander than crowned head’s mortua… His gentle heroic manhood enters i… The ever-flowering common heart fo…
He found her by the ocean’s moanin… Nor any wicked change in her disce… And she believed his old love had… Which was her exultation, and her… She took his hand, and walked with…
With love exceeding a simple love… That glide in grasses and rubble o… Or change their perch on a beat of… From branch to branch, only restfu… Or, bristled, curl at a touch thei…
Night, like a dying mother, Eyes her young offspring, Day. The birds are dreamily piping. And O, my love, my darling! The night is life ebb’d away:
A revelation came on Jane, The widow of a labouring swain: And first her body trembled sharp, Then all the woman was a harp With winds along the strings; she…
To sit on History in an easy chai… Still rivalling the wild hordes by… Sure, this beseems a race of lagga… Unwarned by those plain letters sc… If more than hands’ and armsful be…
Of me and of my theme think what t… The song of gladness one straight… But I have never stood at Fortune… Were she and her light crew to run… At my poor holding little would be…
The long cloud edged with streamin… Soars from the West; The red leaf mounts with it away, Showing the nest A blot among the branches bare:
Though I am faithful to my loves… And place them among Memory’s gre… Where burns a face like Hesper: o… Of visages I get a moment’s view, Sweet eyes that in the heaven of m…
A breath of the mountains, fresh b… That look with their eye-daring su… The voice of great Nature; sublim… Yet earnest and simple as any swee…
Grey with all honours of age! but… As dawn when the drowsy farm-yard… Tender to tearfulness—childlike, a… Here beats true English blood ric… ground.
Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in hi… Has earth beneath his wings: from… He views the rosy dawn. In vain t… The fatal web below while far he f… But when the arrow strikes him, th…
Fleck of sky you are, Dropped through branches dark, O my little one, mine! Promise of the star, Outpour of the lark;
Men the Angels eyed; And here they were wild waves, And there as marsh descried; Men the Angels eyed, And liked the picture best
What splendour of imperial station… The Tree of Life, may reach when,… His branching stem points way to u… And skyward still aspires, we see… Who sang for us the Archangelical…