#EnglishWriters
[From the Mireio of Mistral] A hundred mares, all white! their… Like mace-reed of the marshy plain… Thick-tufted, wavy, free o’ the sh… And when the fiery squadron rears
Our Islet out of Helgoland, dismi… From his quaint tenement, quits ha… There lived with us a wagging humo… In that hound’s arch dwarf-legged…
Should thy love die; O bury it not under ice-blue eyes! And lips that deny, With a scornful surprise, The life it once lived in thy brea…
[Iliad, B. XVII. V. 426] So now the horses of Aiakides, of… Wept, since first they were ware o… Cast down low in the whirl of the… Sooth, meanwhile, then did Autome…
At last we parley: we so strangely… In such a close communion! It bef… About the sounding of the Matin-b… And lo! her place was vacant, and… Of loneliness was round me. Then…
In our old shipwrecked days there… When in the firelight steadily agl… Joined slackly, we beheld the red… Among the clicking coals. Our lib… That eve was left to us: and hushe…
What soul would bargain for a cure… Contempt the nobler agony to kill? Rather let me bear on the bitter i… And strike this rusty bosom with n… It seems there is another veering…
Along the garden terrace, under wh… A purple valley (lighted at its ed… By smoky torch-flame on the long c… Whereunder dropped the chariot), g… A quiet company we pace, and wait
Picture some Isle smiling green '… Full of old woods, leafy wisdoms,… Passions and pageants; sweet love… Life in all shapes, aims, and fate… human heart.
If that thou hast the gift of stre… Thy part is to uplift the trodden… Else in a giant’s grasp until the… A hopeless wrestler shall thy soul…
Historic be the survey of our kind… And how their brave Society took… Lion, wolf, vulture, fox, jackal a… The strong of limb, the keen of no… Who, with some jars in harmony, co…
Not ere the bitter herb we taste, Which ages thought of happy times, To plant us in a weeping waste, Rings with our fellows this one he… Accordant chimes.
I stood at the gate of the cot Where my darling, with side-glance… Would spy, on her trim garden-plot… The busy wild things chase and lur… For these with their ways were her…
Blue July, bright July, Month of storms and gorgeous blue; Violet lightnings o’er thy sky, Heavy falls of drenching dew; Summer crown! o’er glen and glade
Whate’er I be, old England is my… So there’s my answer to the judges… I’m nothing of a fox, nor of a lam… I don’t know how to bleat nor how… I’m for the nation!
