#EnglishWriters
When I set out for Lyonnesse, A hundred miles away, The rime was on the spray, And starlight lit my lonesomeness When I set out for Lyonnesse
Perhaps, long hence, when I have… Some other’s feature, accent, thou… Will carry you back to what I use… And bring some memory of your love… Then you may pause awhile and thin…
My ardours for emprize nigh lost Since Life has bared its bones to… I shrink to seek a modern coast Whose riper times have yet to be; Where the new regions claim them f…
That night your great guns, unawar… Shook all our coffins as we lay, And broke the chancel window—squar… We thought it was the Judgment—da… And sat upright. While drearisome
When of tender mind and body I was moved by minstrelsy, And that strain “The Bridge of L… Brought a strange delight to me. In the battle-breathing jingle
“My bride is not coming, alas!” sa… And the telegram shakes in his han… It was hurried! We met at a danci… When I went to the Cattle—Show a… And then, next night, where the F…
Con the dead page as 'twere live l… Cold wisdom’s words will ease thy… Aye, go; cast off sweet ways, and… To biting blasts that are intent o… But if thy object Fame’s far summ…
(at a Cathedral Service) THAT from this bright believing… An outcast I should be, That faiths by which my comrades s… Seem fantasies to me,
Some say the spot is banned; that… Attests to a deed of hell; But of else than of bale is the my… That ancient Vale-folk tell. Ere Cernel’s Abbey ceased hereabo…
'O He’s suffering– maybe dying– a… And smooth his bed and whisper to… Only the nurse’s brief twelve word… As by stealth, to let me know. 'He was the best and brightest! -…
The sun said, watching my watering… "Some morn you’ll pass away; These flowers and plants I parch… Who’ll water them that day? "Those banks and beds whose shape…
AS evening shaped I found me on a… Which sight could scarce sustain: The black lean land, of featureles… Was like a tract in pain. “This scene, like my own life,” I…
WILLIAM Dewy, Tranter Reuben,… Robert’s kin, and John’s, and Ned… And the Squire, and Lady Susan,… “Gone,” I call them, gone for goo… heads;
I traced the Circus whose gray st… Where Rome and dim Etruria interj… Till came a child who showed an an… That bore the image of a Constant… She lightly passed; nor did she on…
They sing their dearest songs— He, she, all of them—yea, Treble and tenor and bass, And one to play; With the candles mooning each face…