#EnglishWriters
Thou, run to the dry on this waysi… Too plainly of all the propellers… Quenched youth, and is that thy pu… Even such limp slough as the snake… Slack to the gale upon spikes of w…
Long with us, now she leaves us; s… Beneath our sacred sod: A woman vowed to Good, whom all a… The daylight gift of God.
Beneath the vans of doom did men p… Heroic who came out; for round the… A wavering phantom’s red volcano t… With league-long lizard tail and f… II.
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…
How sweet on sunny afternoons, For those who journey light and we… To loiter up a hilly rise Which hides the prospect far beyon… And fancy all the landscape lying
Now ’tis Spring on wood and wold, Early Spring that shivers with co… But gladdens, and gathers, day by… A lovelier hue, a warmer ray, A sweeter song, a dearer ditty;
To them that knew her, there is vi… In these the simple letters of her… To them that knew her not, be it b… So strong a spirit is not of the d…
Who call her Mother and who calls… Look on her grave and see not Dea…
O briar-scents, on yon wet wing Of warm South-west wind brushing… You mind me of the sweetest thing That ever mingled frank and shy: When she and I, by love enticed,
Let Fate or Insufficiency provide Mean ends for men who what they ar… Penned in their narrow day no chan… Save one which strikes the blow to… Our faith is ours and comes not on…
Cannon his name, Cannon his voice, he came. Who heard of him heard shaken hill… An earth at quake, to quiet stampe… Who looked on him beheld the will…
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…
Flat as to an eagle’s eye, Earth hung under Attila. Sign for carnage gave he none. In the peace of his disdain, Sun and rain, and rain and sun,
The day that is the night of days, With cannon-fire for sun ablaze We spy from any billow’s lift; And England still this tidal drif… Would she to sainted forethought v…
It is the season of the sweet wild… My Lady’s emblem in the heart of… So golden-crownèd shines she glor… And with that softest dream of blo… Mild as an evening heaven round H…