#EnglishWriters
Too late I bring my heart, too la… Too late to bring the true love th… Too long, unthrift, I gave it her… Spent it in idle love and idle son… Youth seemed so rich, with kisses…
This life I squander, hating the… That will not bring me either Res… This health I hack and ravage as… These nerves I fain would shatter… I fain would break—this heart that…
Silence, whose drowsy eyelids are… And whose half-sleeping eyes are t… On whose still breast the water-li… For all her speech the whisper of… Made of all things that in the wat…
There is too much beauty upon this… For lonely men to bear, Too many eyes, too enchanted skies… Too many things too fair; And the man who would live the lif…
Crickets calling, Apples falling. Summer dying, Life is flying. So soon over–
When last I saw this opening rose That holds the summer in its hand, And with its beauty overflows And sweetens half a shire of land, It was a black and cindered thing,
To Irma, Not all my treasure hath the bandi… Locked in his glimmering caverns o… Fair women dead and friendships of… And noble dreams that had to end a…
(TO MRS. HENRY HARLAND) Paris, half Angel, half Grisette, I would that I were with thee yet… Where the long boulevard at even Stretches its starry lamps to heav…
(TO JAMES WELCH) Dear Desk, Farewell! I spoke you… In phrases neither sweet nor soft, But at the end I come to see That thou a friend hast been to me…
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…
Fragoletta, blessed one, What think you of the light of the… Do you think the dark was best, Lying snug in mother’s breast? Ah! I knew that sweetness, too,
What shall I sing when all is sun… And every tale is told, And in the world is nothing young That was not long since old? Why should I fret unwilling ears
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
God gave us an hour for our tears, One hour out of all the years, For all the years were another’s g… Given in a cruel troth of old. And how did we spend his boon?
Fly, little note, And know no rest Till warm you lie Within that nest Which is her breast;