#EnglishWriters
Wearily, drearily, Half the day long, Flap the great banners High over the stone; Strangely and eerily
Our hands have met, our lips have… Our souls - who knows when the win… How light souls drift mid longings… If thou forget’st, can I forget The time that was not long ago?
Ho! is there any will ride with me… Sir Giles, le bon des barrières? The clink of arms is good to hear, The flap of pennons fair to see; Ho! is there any will ride with me…
What part of the dread eternity Are those strange minutes that I… Mazed with the doubt of love and p… When I thy delicate face may see, A little while before farewell?
Love is enough: draw near and beho… Ye who pass by the way to your res… And are full of the hope of the da… For the strong of the world have b… And my house is all wasted from th…
I once a king and chief Now am the tree-bark’s thief, Ever ‘twixt trunk and leaf Chasing the prey.
There was a lord that hight Malte… Among great lords he was right gre… On poor folk trod he like the dirt… None but God might do him hurt. Deus est Deus pauperum.
I KNOW a little garden-close Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy dawn to dewy night, And have one with me wandering.
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…
Summer looked for long am I: Much shall change or e’er I die. Prithee take it not amiss Though I weary thee with bliss.
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.
Love is enough: though the World… And the woods have no voice but th… Though the sky be too dark for dim… The gold-cups and daisies fair blo… Though the hills be held shadows,…
Winter in the world it is, Round about the unhoped kiss Whose dream I long have sorrowed… Round about the longing sore, That the touch of thee shall turn
Dawn talks to Day Over dew-gleaming flowers, Night flies away Till the resting of hours: Fresh are thy feet