#EnglishWriters
Sour fiend, go home and tell the… For once you met your master, - A man who carried in his soul Three charms against disaster, The Devil and disaster.
He begged and shuffled on; Sometimes he stopped to throw A bit and benison To sparrows in the snow, And clap a frozen ear
Eve, with her basket, was Deep in the bells and grass, Wading in bells and grass Up to her knees, Picking a dish of sweet
I saw with open eyes Singing birds sweet Sold in the shops For people to eat, Sold in the shops of
A few tossed thrushes save That carolled less than cried Against the dying rave And moan that never died, No bird sang then; no thorn,
“Come, try your skill, kind gentle… A penny for three tries!” Some threw and lost, some threw an… A ten-a-penny prize. She was a tawny gypsy girl,
The leaves looked in at the window Of the house across the way, At a man that had sinned like you… And all poor human clay. He muttered: 'In a gambol
The morning that my baby came They found a baby swallow dead, And saw a something, hard to name, Flit moth-like over baby’s bed. My joy, my flower, my baby dear
The old gilt vane and spire receiv… The last beam eastward striking; The first shy bat to peep at eve Has found her to his liking. The western heaven is dull and gre…
Not baser than his own homekeeping… Whose journeyman he is - Blind sons and breastless daughter… Whose darkness pardons his, - About the world, while all the wor…
For all its flowers and trailing b… Its singing birds and streams, This valley’s not the blissful spo… The paradise, it seems. I don’t forget a man I met
I climbed a hill as light fell sho… And rooks came home in scramble so… And filled the trees and flapped a… And sang themselves to sleep; An owl from nowhere with no sound
With Love among the haycocks We played at hide and seek; He shut his eyes and counted - We hid among the hay - Then he a haycock mounted,
Reason has moons, but moons not he… Lie mirror’d on the sea, Confounding her astronomers, But O! delighting me. . . . . .
The book was dull, its pictures As leaden as its lore, But one glad, happy picture Made up for all and more: ’Twas that of you, sweet peasant,