#EnglishWriters
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…
‘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…
The Cry of the Little Peoples we… The Czech and the Pole, and the… We ask but a little portion of the… Only to sow and sing and reap in t… We ask not coaling stations, nor p…
_Illius est nobis lege colendus am… On her own terms, O lover, must t… The heart’s beloved: be she kind,… Cruel, expect no more; not for thy… But for the fire in thee that melt…
I saw him in a picture, and I fel… He stood in line, The man ‘for mine,’ A tall silk-hatted 'guy’— Right on the call,
What of the darkness? Is it very… Are there great calms and find ye… Like soft-shut lilies all your fac… With some strange peace our faces… With some great faith our faces ne…
To Man in haste, flushed with imp… Of some great thing to do, so slow… The long delay of Time all idle s… Idle the lordly leisure of the sun… So splendid his design, so brief h…
(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
Unless you come while still the wo… A place of birds and the blue drea… In vain has all the singing summer… Unless you come, and share it all… Ah! come, ere August flames its h…
Singing go I, seeking for ever a… Sung long ago; I ask no more to h… Her voice that sang-for I should… Had I the power, to bring her onc… Near to the earth, its sorrow or i…
Above the town a monstrous wheel i… With glowing spokes of red, Low in the west its fiery axle bur… And, lost amid the spaces overhead… A vague white moth, the moon, is f…
The afternoon is lonely for your f… The pampered morning mocks the day… I was so rich at noon, the sun was… Mine the sad sea that in that rock… Girded us round with blue betrotha…
You must mean more than just this… You perfect thing so subtly fair, Simple and complex as a flower, Wrought with such planetary care; How patient the eternal power
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…
On drives the road-another mile! a… Time’s horses gallop down the less… O why such haste, with nothing at… Fain are we all, grim driver, to d… And stretch with lingering feet th…
