#EnglishWriters
Away from the silent hills and the… of upland waters, The high still stars and the lonel… in her quarters, I fly to the city, the streets, th…
Our tears, our songs, our laurels—… To thee in thy Gethsemane of loss… Stretched in thine unimagined agon… On Hell’s last engine of the Iron… For such a world as this that thou…
The heart of the rose-how sweet Its fragrance to drain, Till the greedy brain Reels and grows faint With the garnered scent,
When thou art gone, then all the r… Mornings no more shall dawn, Roses no more shall blow, Thy lovely face withdrawn— Nor woods grow green again after t…
Dear Heart, this is my book of bo… The changing story of the wanderin… That found at last its ending in t… The love it sought and sang astray… With wild young heart and happy ea…
Stream that leapt and danced Down the rocky ledges, All the summer long, Past the flowered sedges, Under the green rafters,
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,
As in the woodland I walk, many a… How from the dross and the drift t… And the fires quenched in October… How foulness grows fair with the s… of sleets and snows,
(TO EDMUND GOSSE) Still towards the steep Parnassia… The moon-led pilgrims wend, Ah, who of all that start to-day Shall ever reach the end?
AH, London! London! our delight, Great flower that opens but at nig… Great City of the midnight sun, Whose day begins when day is done. Lamp after lamp against the sky
At last I got a letter from the d… And out of it there fell a little… The violet of an unforgotten hour.
Let’s go to market in the moon, And buy some dreams together, Slip on your little silver shoon, And don your cap and feather; No need of petticoat or stocking—
(TO L. AND H.H.) O you that dwell 'mid farm and fol… Yet keep so quick undulled a heart… I send you here that book of gold, So loved so long;
Dear Love, you ask if I be true, If other women move The heart that only beats for you With pulses all of love. Out in the chilly dew one morn
O never laugh again! Laughter is dead, Deep hiding in her grave, A sacred thing. O never laugh again,