#EnglishWriters
What may the woman labour to confe… There is about her mouth a nervous… 'Tis something to be told, or hidd… I get a glimpse of hell in this mi… She has desires of touch, as if to…
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…
This Riddle rede or die, Says History since our Flood, To warn her sons of power:- It can be truth, it can be lie; Be parasite to twist awry;
’Tis Christmas weather, and a cou… Receives us: rooms are full: we ca… An attic-crib. Such lovers will n… At that, it is half-said. The gre… Knocks hard upon the midnight’s ho…
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…
On the morning of May, Ere the children had entered my ga… With their wreaths and mechanical… A metal ding-dong of the date! I mounted our hill, bearing heart
On my darling’s bosom Has dropped a living rosy bud, Fair as brilliant Hesper Against the brimming flood. She handles him,
Bright Sirius! that when Orion pa… To dotlings under moonlight still… With cheerful fervour of a warrior… Who holds in his great heart the b… Unquenched of flame though swift t…
On yonder hills soft twilight dwel… And Hesper burns where sunset die… Moist and chill the woodland smell… From the fern-covered hollows upri… Darkness drops not from the skies,
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…
This was the woman; what now of th… But pass him. If he comes beneath… He shall be crushed until he canno… Or, being callous, haply till he c… But he is nothing:—nothing? Only…
Judge mildly the tasked world; and… To brand it, for it bears a heavy… You have perchance observed the in… At night when he has quitted the i… He plays diversions on the homewar…
MARK where the pressing wind sho… Its skeleton shadow on the broad-b… Here is a fitting spot to dig Lov… Here where the ponderous breakers… And dart their hissing tongues hig…
I am not of those miserable males Who sniff at vice and, daring not… Do therefore hope for heaven. I t… Of all my deeds. The wind that fi… Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I…
Musing on the fate of Daphne, Many feelings urged my breast, For the God so keen desiring, And the Nymph so deep distrest. Never flashed thro’ sylvan valley