#EnglishWriters
I’m not sorry I am older, love—ar… Over all youth’s fuss and flurry, All its everlasting hurry, All its solemn self-importance and… Perhaps we missed the highest reac…
When winter comes and takes away t… And all the singing of sweet birds… The warm and honeyed world lost de… Still, independent of the summer s… In vain, with sullen roar,
Who will gather with me the fallen… This drift of forgotten forsaken l… Ah! who give ear To the sigh October heaves At summer’s passing by!
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
(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
I dwell, with all things great and… The green earth and the lustral ai… The sacred spaces of the sea, Day in, day out, companion me. Pure-faced, pure-thoughted, folk a…
Her eyes are bluebells now, her vo… And the long sighing grass her ele… She who a woman was is now a star In the high heaven shining down on…
(_Ballade a double refrain_) Marshal of France, yet still the… Comrade at arms, on your bronzed c… The soldier’s kiss, and drop the s… Brother by brother fought we in th…
Morning comes to little eyes, Wakens birds and butterflies, Bids the flower uplift his head, Calls the whole round world from b… Up jump Geoffrey!
The dead arose. Long had they dre… Deep in the grass of the still gra… Of meeting their beloved once more… They knocked at each familiar door… They waited eagerly to see
So many times the heart can break, So many ways, Yet beat along and beat along So many days. A fluttering thing we never see,
Paths that wind O’er the hills and by the streams I must leave behind— Dawns and dews and dreams. Trails that go
Dear Heart, what thing may symbol… A love like ours, what gift, whate… Hold more significance 'twixt thee… Than paltry words a truth miraculo… Or the poor signs that in astronom…
Her talk was all of woodland thing… Of little lives that pass Away in one green afternoon, Deep in the haunted grass; For she had come from fairyland,
To R.K. Leather (July 16th, 1892.) It happened in that great Italian… Where every bosom heateth with a s… At Rimini, anigh that crumbling s…