#EnglishWriters
Ho! is there any will ride with me… Sir Giles, le bon des barrières? The clink of arms is good to hear, The flap of pennons fair to see; Ho! is there any will ride with me…
Spring am I, too soft of heart Much to speak ere I depart: Ask the Summer-tide to prove The abundance of my love.
I heard men saying, Leave hope an… All days shall be as all have been… To-day and to-morrow bring fear an… The never-ending toil between. When Earth was younger mid toil a…
Sad-Eyed and soft and grey thou a… Across the long grass of the marsh… Thy west wind whispers of the comi… Thy lark forgets that May is grow… Above the lush blades of the sprin…
The King has asked of his son so… “Why art thou hushed and heavy of… O fair it is to ride abroad. Thou playest not, and thou laughes… All thy good game is clean forgot.…
Summer looked for long am I: Much shall change or e’er I die. Prithee take it not amiss Though I weary thee with bliss.
Gold on her head, and gold on her… And gold where the hems of her kir… And a golden girdle round my sweet… Ah! qu’elle est belle La Margueri… Margaret’s maids are fair to see,
In Arthur’s house whileome was I When happily the time went by In midmost glory of his days. He held his court then in a place Whereof ye shall not find the name
Upon an eve I sat me down and wep… Because the world to me seemed now… Still autumn was it, & the mea… The misty hills dreamed, and the s… Seemed listening to the sorrow of…
Strong are thine arms, O love, &a… Thine heart to live, and love, and… But thou art wed to grief and wron… Live, then, and long, though hope… Live on, & labour thro’ the ye…
Slayer of the winter, art thou her… O welcome, thou that’s bring’st th… The bitter wind makes not thy vict… Nor will we mock thee for thy fain… Welcome, O March! whose kindly da…
Each eve earth falleth down the da… As though its hope were o’er; Yet lurks the sun when day is done Behind to-morrow’s door. Grey grows the dawn while men-folk…
It was Goldilocks woke up in the… At the first of the shearing of th… There stood his mother on the hear… And of new-leased wheat was little… There stood his sisters by the que…
Silk Embroidery. Lo silken my garden, and silken my sky, And silken my apple-boughs hanging on high;
A STORY FROM THE LAN… At Deildar-Tongue in the autumn-t… So many times over comes summer ag… Stood Odd of Tongue his door besi… What healing in summer if winter b…
