#EnglishWriters
Slayer of the winter, art thou her… O welcome, thou that’s bring’st th… The bitter wind makes not thy vict… Nor will we mock thee for thy fain… Welcome, O March! whose kindly da…
Love is enough: ho ye who seek sav… Go no further; come hither; there… And these know the House of Fulfi… These know the Cup with the roses… These know the World’s Wound and…
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…
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…
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…
The doomed ship drives on helpless… All that the mariners may do is do… And death is left for men to gaze… While side by side two friends sit… Friends once, foes once, and now b…
What cometh here from west to east… And who are these, the marchers st… We bear the message that the rich… Aback to those who bade them wake… Not one, not one, nor thousands mu…
It was up in the morn we rose beti… From the hall-floor hard by the ro… It was but John the Red and I, And we were the brethren of Grego… And Gregory the Wright was one
Love is enough: have no thought fo… If ye lie down this even in rest f… Ye who have paid for your bliss wi… For as it was once so it shall be… Ye shall cry out for death as ye s…
Each eve earth falleth down the da… As though its hope were o’er; Yet lurks the sun when day is done Behind to-morrow’s door. Grey grows the dawn while men-folk…
I heard men saying, Leave hope an… All days shall be as all have been… To-day and to-morrow bring fear an… The never-ending toil between. When Earth was younger mid toil a…
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
So swift the hours are moving Unto the time unproved: Farewell my love unloving, Farewell my love beloved! What! are we not glad-hearted?
The Briarwood. The fateful slumber floats and flo… About the tangle of the rose; But lo! the fated hand and heart To rend the slumberous curse apart…
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.