#EnglishWriters
Go, cold white pearls, with your l… The woman is waiting who longs to… But the rainbow light that within… But the soft cool touch of your sa… You are undefiled, and the price o…
And so we closed the book, wherein… How many words of ecstasy and pain… How oft repeated passion’s deep re… Like ebb and flow of tide, whose e… Upon the hearing of our listening…
Give me your hands to hold, For the night and the wind are col… And the year ‘s growing sad and ol… So give me your hands to hold. Give me your lips to press,
Oh! weary ghosts, be still! Sad spectres of long dead delights… Wan spirits of the days and nights Wherein of joy we drank our fill, Lie deep beneath the sod of years.
Upon a Sunday afternoon, When no one else was by, The httle girl from Hanley way. She came and walked with I. We climbed nigh to the Beacon top…
If at some future day we two shoul… Stand face to face before the star… And pull from Love’s dead form th… That time has wound about from hea… I scarcely know what words would c…
I stood beside you in the dark, And felt the magic of the night Steal o’er my senses, 'til they sw… And mists of passion dimmed my sig… The stillness made me dumb, those…
What so dead as my love for you, What so terribly dead! Lay it low ‘neath the grass and de… Bury it deep in an earthy bed, Then put a tombstone over its head
Sweet are the silent places of the… Green heart of woods through which… Long sloping meadows sown with sil… Old gardens thick with scents of d… Pale dome of morning, ere the firs…
A drop of dew that on a rose-bud c… A ray of sunshine in a world of S… A bird, who singing from some hidd… Is bathed in streams of endless me… An open flower you trod on as you…
To meet almost as strangers, who h… Such lovers in the past! no glad d… To thrill our senses, till the wro… For very joy—I wonder will your m… Be happy? it seems years since I…
The world that thro’ its vale of t… Looks out upon Eternity Has yet one smile for us, and we Still youthful in the count of yea… May add our smiles, and kiss the l…
Bredon is a lonesome hill, It hasn’t any brothers ; It stands within the Severn vale, Apart from all the others. The Cotswold Hills go hand in han…
If not from Phaon I must hope for… Ah! let me seek it from the raging… To raging seas unpitied I’ll remo… And either cease to live or cease… Ovid’s Heroic Epistle, XV.
Oh! my valley of shade and dreams! Golden lights 'mid the distant blu… Sun that pauses to kiss the dew, Dew that trembles beneath its beam… Fain were I but a bird above,