#EnglishWriters
Said Mr. Smith, “I really cannot Tell you, Dr. Jones— The most peculiar pain I’m in— I think it’s in my bones.” Said Dr. Jones, “Oh, Mr. Smith,
Three and thirty birds there stood In an elder in a wood; Called Melmillo—flew off three, Leaving thirty in the tree; Called Melmillo—nine now gone,
The abode of the nightingale is ba… Flowered frost congeals in the gel… The fox howls from his frozen lair… Alas, my loved one is gone, I am alone:
I can’t abear a butcher, I can’t abide his meat, The ugliest shop of all is his, The ugliest in the street; Bakers’ are warm, cobblers’ dark
The seas of England are our old d… Let the loud billow of the shingly… Sing freedom on her breezes evermo… To all earth’s ships that sailing… The gaunt sea-nettle be our fortit…
The last of last words spoken is,… The last dismantled flower in the… The last thin rumour of a feeble b… The last blind rat to spurn the mi… A hardening darkness glasses the h…
Suppose... and suppose that a wild… Came cantering out of the sky, With bridle of silver, and into th… To fly—and to fly; And we stretched up into the air,…
Have you been catching fish, Tom… Have you snared a weeping hare? Have you whistled 'No Nunny’ and… Or blinded a bird of the air? Have you trod like a murderer thro…
How large unto the tiny fly Must little things appear!- A rosebud like a feather bed, Its prickle like a spear; A dewdrop like a looking-glass,
There is a wind where the rose was… Cold rain where sweet grass was, And clouds like sheep Stream o’er the steep Grey skies where the lark was.
Bitterly, England must thou griev… Though none of these poor men who… But did within his soul believe That death for thee was glorified. Ever they watched it hovering near…
If you would happy company win, Dangle a palm-nut from a tree, Idly in green to sway and spin, Its snow-pulped kernel for bait; a… A nimble titmouse enter in.
If I were Lord of Tartary, Myself, and me alone, My bed should be of ivory, Of beaten gold my throne; And in my court should peacocks fl…
‘Who knocks? ’ ‘I, who was beauti… Beyond all dreams to restore, I from the roots of the dark thorn… And knock on the door.’ ‘Who speaks? ’ 'I—once was my spe…
Far are those tranquil hills, Dyed with fair evening’s rose; On urgent, secret errand bent, A traveller goes. Approach him strangers three,