#EnglishWriters
O skylark! I see thee and call th… Thy wings bear thee up to the brea… I see thee no more, but thy song i… The tongue of the heavens to me! Thus are the days when I was a bo…
‘I play for Seasons; not Eterniti… Says Nature, laughing on her way.… All those whose stake is nothing m… And lo, she wins, and of her harmo… She is full sure! Upon her dying…
There stands a singer in the stree… He has an audience motley and meet… Above him lowers the London night… And around the lamps are flaring b… His minstrelsy may be unchaste -
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…
Bury thy sorrows, and they shall r… As souls to the immortal skies, And there look down like mothers’… But let thy joys be fresh as flowe… That suck the honey of the showers…
‘Bibber besotted, with scowl of a… Never to join to thy warriors arme… Never for ambush forth with the pr… Dared thy soul, for to thee that t… Sooth, more easy it seems, down th…
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…
Sword in length a reaping-hook ama… Harald sheared his field, blood up… ‘Mid the swathes of slain, First at moonrise drank. Thereof hunger, as for meats the k…
Gracefullest leaper, the dappled f… Curves over brambles with berries… Light as a bubble that flies from… Whisked by the laundry-wife out of… Wavy he comes, woolly, all at his…
Rich labour is the struggle to be… While we make sure the struggle ca… Else better were it in some bower… Slothful to swing, contending with… You point at Wisdom fixed on loft…
When I would image her features, Comes up a shrouded head: I touch the outlines, shrinking; She seems of the wandering dead. But when love asks for nothing,
Now, this, to my notion, is pleasa… To lie all alone on a ragged heath… Where your nose isn’t sniffing for… But a peat-fire smells like a gard… The cottagers bustle about the doo…
Sprung of the father blood, the mo… Are they who point our pathway and… They rarely meet; one soars, one w… When they do meet, it is our earth… To see Life’s formless offspring…
By this he knew she wept with waki… That, at his hand’s light quiver b… The strange low sobs that shook th… Were called into her with a sharp… And strangled mute, like little ga…
A fountain of our sweetest, quick… In fellowship abounding, here subs… And never passage of a cloud on wi… To gladden blue forgets him; near…