#EnglishWriters
Dear home, thou scene of earliest… The least of which wronged Memory… Bitterer than all thine unremember…
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken… Rose leaves, when the rose is dead…
To thirst and find no fill—to wail… With short unsteady steps—to pause… To feel the blood run through the… Where busy thought and blind sensa… To nurse the image of unfelt cares…
Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear? Wherefore feed and clothe and save
Thy dewy looks sink in my breast; Thy gentle words stir poison there… Thou hast disturbed the only rest That was the portion of despair! Subdued to Duty’s hard control,
Earth, ocean, air, belovèd brother… If our great Mother has imbued my… With aught of natural piety to fee… Your love, and recompense the boon… If dewy morn, and odorous noon, an…
Wealth and dominion fade into the… Of the great sea of human right an… When once from our possession they… But love, though misdirected, is a… The things which are immortal, and…
How sweet it is to sit and read th… Of mighty poets and to hear the wh… Sweet music, which when the attent… Fills the dim pause—
ONE word is too often profaned For me to profane it; One feeling too falsely disdain’d For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair
Monarch of Gods and Dæmons, and a… But One, who throng those bright… Which Thou and I alone of living… Behold with sleepless eyes! regard… Made multitudinous with thy slaves…
The fierce beasts of the woods and… Track not the steps of him who dri… For the light breezes, which for e… Around its margin, heap the sand t…
Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent… Sweet-basil and mignonette? Embleming love and health, which n… In the same wreath might be. Alas, and they are wet!
Faint with love, the Lady of the… Lay in the paradise of Lebanon Under a heaven of cedar boughs: th… Of love was on her lips; the light… Out of her eyes—
Dark Spirit of the desart rude That o’er this awful solitude, Each tangled and untrodden wood, Each dark and silent glen below, Where sunlight’s gleamings never g…
The rose that drinks the fountain… In the pleasant air of noon, Grows pale and blue with altered h… In the gaze of the nightly moon; For the planet of frost, so cold a…
