#EnglishWriters
Two stars once on their lonely way Met in the heavenly height, And they dreamed a dream they migh… With undivided light; Melt into one with a breathless th…
The peril of fair faces all his da… No man shall 'scape: be it for joy… Each is the thrall of some predest… Divinely doomed to work his overth… Transiently fair, as flowers in ga…
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,
Waiting in the woodland, watching… Thinking every leaf that stirs the… Thinking every whisper the rustle… How my heart goes up and up, and t… First it is a squirrel, then it is…
The Décadent was speaking to his… Poor useless thing, he said, Why did God burden me with such a… The body were enough, The body gives me all.
My mouth to thy mouth Ah never, ah never! My breast from thy breast Eternities sever; But my soul to thy soul
With laughter always on the darkes… She danced before the very face of… Starry companion of my mortal way, Pre-destined merrily to be my mate… With eyes as calm, she met the eye…
Am I so soon grown tired?-yet thi… Can open still each morn so blue a… This great old river still through… Run like a happy boy to holidays, This sun be still a bridegroom, th…
Doth it not thrill thee, Poet, Dead and dust though thou art, To feel how I press thy singing Close to my heart?- Take it at night to my pillow,
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…
Is it your face I see, your voice… Your face, your voice, again after… O is your cheek once more against… And is this blessed rain, angel, y… You have come back,-how strange-ou…
(January 19, 1909) Poet of doom, dementia, and death, Of beauty singing in a charnel hou… Like the lost soul of a poor moon-… With too much loving of some lord…
My eye upon your eyes— So was I born, One far-off day in Paradise, A summer morn; I had not lived till then,
(TO THE OMAR KHAYYAM CLU Great Omar, here to-night we drai… Unto thy long-since transmigrated… Ours all unworthy in thy place to… Ours still to read in life’s encha…
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…