#EnglishWriters
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…
A ship with shields before the sun… Six maidens round the mast, A red-gold crown on every one, A green gown on the last. The fluttering green banners there
Laden Autumn here I stand Worn of heart, and weak of hand: Nought but rest seems good to me, Speak the word that sets me free.
Dawn talks to Day Over dew-gleaming flowers, Night flies away Till the resting of hours: Fresh are thy feet
It was Goldilocks woke up in the… At the first of the shearing of th… There stood his mother on the hear… And of new-leased wheat was little… There stood his sisters by the que…
The Beasts that be In wood and waste, Now sit and see, Nor ride nor haste.
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
Wearily, drearily, Half the day long, Flap the great banners High over the stone; Strangely and eerily
She wavered, stopped and turned, m… The deep grey windows of her heart… Methought they softened with a new… To note in mine unspoken miseries, And as a prayer from out my heart…
Hot August noon: already on that… Since sunrise through the Wiltshi… Of mouth and eye, he had gone leag… Ay and by night, till whether good… He was, he knew not, though he kne…
Now sleeps the land of houses, and dead night holds the street, And there thou liest, my baby, and sleepest soft and sweet; My man is away for awhile,
Sad-Eyed and soft and grey thou a… Across the long grass of the marsh… Thy west wind whispers of the comi… Thy lark forgets that May is grow… Above the lush blades of the sprin…
Pray but one prayer for me ‘twixt… Think but one thought of me up in… The summer night waneth, the morni… Faint and grey ’twixt the leaves o… That are patiently waiting there f…
I am the ancient apple-queen, As once I was so am I now. For evermore a hope unseen, Betwixt the blossom and the bough. Ah, where’s the river’s hidden Go…
How the wind howls this morn About the end of May, And drives June on apace To mock the world forlorn And the world’s joy passed away