#EnglishWriters
Why did she marry him? Ah, say wh… How was her fancy caught? What was the dream that he drew he… Or was she only bought? Gave she her gold for a girlish wh…
‘She said: ’Thou shalt never unsa… Thou shalt bear thy love in thy bo… Thou shalt wake to it dawning by d… There is none shall thrust between… Ah, my love shall fare as a banner…
My love said she had nought to wea… Her garments all were old, And soon her body must go bare Against the winter’s cold. I took her out into the dawn,
(WITH APOLOGIES TO ARIEL… Five inches deep Sir Goldfish lie… Here last September was he laid, Poppies these that were his eyes, Of fish-bones were these bluebells…
Bees make their honey out of colou… Through the June day, with all it… Heather of breezy hills, and idle… Brushing soft doors of every bloss… Filling gold thighs in drowsy ravi…
‘We’re going home!' I heard two l… They kissed their friends and bade… I hid the deadly hunger in my eyes… And, lest I might have killed the… Ah, love! we too once gambolled ho…
I nothing did all yesterday But listen to the singing rain On roof and weeping window-pane, And, 'whiles I’d watch the flying… And smoking breakers in the bay:
An Elegy High on his Patmos of the Souther… Our northern dreamer sleeps, Strange stars above him, and above… Strange leaves and wings their tro…
(TO I——a) When rumour fain would fright my e… With the destruction and decay Of things familiar and dear, And vaunt of a swift-running day
(TO EDMUND GOSSE) Still towards the steep Parnassia… The moon-led pilgrims wend, Ah, who of all that start to-day Shall ever reach the end?
A caravan from China comes; For miles it sweetens all the a… With fragrant silks and dreaming g… Attar and myrrh— A caravan from China comes.
May is back, and You and I Are at the stream again— The leaves are out, And all about The building birds begin
When the spring comes again, will… Three springs I watched and waite… And listened for your voice upon t… I sought for you in many a hidden… Saying, ‘She must be there.’
Within that wood where thine own s… O! Poet, thou art passed, and at… Hollow and sere we cry, yet win no… But the dark muttering of the fore… We may not tread, nor pierce with…
You often ask me, love, how much… Bidding my fancy find An answer to your mind; I say: ‘Past count, as there are… You shake your head and say,