#EnglishWriters
Yea, love, I know, and I would ha… I know that not for us Is springtide Passion with his fi… I know this love of ours Lives not, nor yet may live,
Blue flower waving in the wind, Say whose blue eyes Lift up your swaying fragile stem To the blue skies. Is she a queen that lies asleep
Not that Queen Venus of adulterou… Whose love was lust’s insatiable f… Not hers the house I would be sin… Whose loose-lipped servants seek a… But mine the Venus of that mornin…
(A Prefatory Sonnet for SANTA LUCIA, the Misses Hodg… Magazine for the Blind) We, deeming day-light fair, and lo… Its forms and dyes, and all the mo…
‘Is she still beautiful?’ I asked… Who of the unforgotten faces told That for long years I had not loo… ‘Beautiful still-but she is growin… And for a space I sorrowed, think…
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…
The outside of her garments were o… The lining purple silk, with gilt… Her wide sleeves green, and border… Where Venus in her naked glory st… To please the careless and disdain…
The sun is weary, for he ran So far and fast to-day; The birds are weary, for who sang So many songs as they? The bees and butterflies at last
Ah, if you worship anything, In deepest hush of silence bend The lone adoring knee, And only silence bring Into the sanctuary.
I wore my heart upon my sleeve, Tis most unwise, they say, to do— But then how could I but believe The foolish thing was safe with yo… Yet, had I known, ’twas safer far
Must I believe this beauty wholly… That in her picture here so deathl… And must I henceforth speak of he… Tells of some face of legend or of… Still here and there remembered-sc…
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.
Strange little spring, by channels… Gentle, resistless, welling, welli… Through what blind ways, we know n… You darkling come to dance and dim… Strange little spring!
Brother that ploughs the furrow I… God give thee grace, and fruitful… Tis fair sweet earth, be it under… And all about it ever the birds si… Yet do I pray your seed fares not…
Water in hidden glens From the secret heart of the mount… Where the red fox hath its dens And the gods their crystal fountai… Up runnel and leaping cataract,