#English
Its roots are bristling in the air Like some mad Earth-god’s spiny h… The loud south-wester’s swell and… Smote it at midnight, and it fell. Thus ends the tree
By Corporal Tullidge. See “The… In Memory of S. C. (Pensioner).… WE trenched, we trumpeted and dru… And from our mortars tons of iron… Ath’art the ditch, the month we bo…
Breathe not, hid Heart: cease sil… And though thy birth-hour beckons… Sleep the long sleep: The Doomsters heap Travails and teens around us here,
A Whimsey AH, child, thou art but half thy… Hers couldst thou wholly be, My light in thee would outglow all… She would relive to me.
A very West-of-Wessex girl, As blithe as blithe could be, Was once well-known to me, And she would laud her native town… And hope and hope that we
UPON a poet’s page I wrote Of old two letters of her name; Part seemed she of the effulgent t… Whence that high singer’s rapture… —When now I turn the leaf the sam…
If hours be years the twain are bl… For now they solace swift desire By bonds of every bond the best, If hours be years. The twain are… Do eastern stars slope never west,
Once more the cauldron of the sun Smears the bookcase with winy red, And here my page is, and there my… And the apple-tree shadows travel… Soon their intangible track will b…
How do you know that the pilgrim t… Along the belting zodiac Swept by the sun in his seeming ro… Is traced by now to the Fishes’ b… And into the Ram, when weeks of c…
I towered far, and lo! I stood wi… The presence of the Lord Most… Sent thither by the sons of earth,… Some answer to their cry. —"The Earth, say’st thou? The…
My spirit will not haunt the mound Above my breast, But travel, memory-possessed, To where my tremulous being found Life largest, best.
He enters, and mute on the edge of… Sits a thin—faced lady, a stranger… A type of decayed gentility; And by some small signs he well ca… That she comes to him almost break…
They hail me as one living, But don’t they know That I have died of late years, Untombed although? I am but a shape that stands here,
“Men know but little more than we, Who count us least of things terre… How happy days are made to be! “Of such strange tidings what thin… O birds in brown that peck and pre…
As newer comers crowd the fore, We drop behind. —We who have laboured long and sor… Times out of mind, And keen are yet, must not regret