#EnglishWriters
I KNOW a little garden-close, Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy morn to dewy night, And have one with me wandering.
But therewith the sun rose upward… And the light flashed up to the he… But they twain arose together, and… And bathed in the light returning,… “All hail, O Day and thy Sons, a…
Had she come all the way for this, To part at last without a kiss? Yea, had she borne the dirt and ra… That her own eyes might see him sl… Beside the haystack in the floods?
The days have slain the days, and the seasons have gone by And brought me the summer again; and here on the grass I lie As erst I lay and was glad
TRANSLATED FROM THE DAN… Hellelil sitteth in bower there, None knows my grief but God alone… And seweth at the seam so fair, I never wail my sorrow to any othe…
Love is enough: cherish life that… Lest ye die ere ye know him, and c… For who knows in what ruin of all… On what wings of the terror of dar… And what is the joy of man’s life…
Lo from our loitering ship a new l… Toothed rocks down the side of the… And black slope the hillsides abov… And a peak rises up on the west fr… Foursquare from base unto point li…
Draw not away thy hands, my love, With wind alone the branches move, And though the leaves be scant abo… The Autumn shall not shame us. Say; Let the world wax cold and d…
Hear a word, a word in season, for the day is drawing nigh, When the Cause shall call upon us… some to live, and some to die! He that dies shall not die lonely,
TRANSLATED FROM THE I… Of silk my gear was shapen, Scarlet they did on me, Then to the sea-strand was I born… And laid in a bark of the sea.
Hast thou longed through weary day… For the sight of one loved face? Mast thou cried aloud for rest, Mid the pain of sundering hours; Cried aloud for sleep and death,
Ye who have come o’er the sea to behold this grey minster of lan… Whose floor is the tomb of time pa… and whose walls by the toil of dea… Show pictures amidst of the ruin
Thick rise the spear-shafts o’er t… That erst the harvest bore; The sword is heavy in the hand, And we return no more. The light wind waves the Ruddy Fo…
When the boughs of the garden hang… And the blackbird reneweth his son… And the thunder departing yet roll… I remember the ending of wrong. When the day that was dusk while h…
There were four of us about that b… The mass-priest knelt at the side, I and his mother stood at the head… Over his feet lay the bride; We were quite sure that he was dea…