#EnglishWriters
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…
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,
TRANSLATED FROM THE DAN… Agnes went through the meadows a-w… Fowl are a-singing. There stood the hill-man heed ther… Agnes, fair Agnes!
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?
Two words about the world we see, And nought but Mine and Thine the… Ah! might we drive them forth and… With us should rest and peace abid… All free, nought owned of goods an…
So swift the hours are moving Unto the time unproved: Farewell my love unloving, Farewell my love beloved! What! are we not glad-hearted?
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…
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?
King’s daughter sitting in tower s… Fair summer is on many a shield. Why weepest thou as the clouds go… Fair sing the swans 'twixt firth a… Why weepest thou in the window-sea…
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…
Shall we wake one morn of spring, Glad at heart of everything, Yet pensive with the thought of ev… Then the white house shall we leav… Pass the wind-flowers and the bays…
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…
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…
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…
Through thick Arcadian woods a hu… Following the beasts upon a fresh… But since his horn-tipped bow but… Now at the noontide nought had hap… Within a vale he called his hounds…
