#EnglishWriters #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Said Mr. Smith, “I really cannot Tell you, Dr. Jones— The most peculiar pain I’m in— I think it’s in my bones.” Said Dr. Jones, “Oh, Mr. Smith,
Down the Hill of Ludgate, Up the Hill of Fleet, To and fro and East and West With people flows the street; Even the King of England
Black lacqueys at the wide-flung d… Stand mute as men of wood. Gleams like a pool the ballroom fl… A burnished solitude. A hundred waxen tapers shine
The last of last words spoken is,… The last dismantled flower in the… The last thin rumour of a feeble b… The last blind rat to spurn the mi… A hardening darkness glasses the h…
Bitterly, England must thou griev… Though none of these poor men who… But did within his soul believe That death for thee was glorified. Ever they watched it hovering near…
The old Pig said to the little pi… ‘In the forest is truffles and mas… Follow me then, all ye little pigs… Follow me fast!’ The Charcoal-burner sat in the sh…
A song of Enchantment I sang me t… In a green-green wood, by waters f… Just as the words came up to me I sang it under the wild wood tree… Widdershins turned I, singing it…
The far moon maketh lovers wise In her pale beauty trembling down, Lending curved cheeks, dark lips,… A strangeness not their own. And, though they shut their lids t…
“What is the world, O soldiers? It is I: I, this incessant snow, This northern sky; Soldiers, this solitude
The abode of the nightingale is ba… Flowered frost congeals in the gel… The fox howls from his frozen lair… Alas, my loved one is gone, I am alone:
Far are those tranquil hills, Dyed with fair evening’s rose; On urgent, secret errand bent, A traveller goes. Approach him strangers three,
“Once... Once upon a time...” Over and over again, Martha would tell us her stories, In the hazel glen. Hers were those clear gray eyes
Come, Death, I’d have a word with… And thou, poor Innocency; And Love - a lad with broken win… Apnd Pity, too; The Fool shall sing to you,
When thin-strewn memory I look th… I see most clearly poor Miss Loo, Her tabby cat, her cage of birds, Her nose, her hair—her muffled wor… And how she’d open her green eyes,
Flee into some forgotten night and… Of all dark long my moon-bright co… Beyond the rumour even of Paradis… There, out of all remembrance, mak… Seek we some close hid shadow for…