#EnglishWriters
In the night I dreamed of you; All the place was filled With your presence; in my heart The strife was stilled. All night I have dreamed of you;
He comes; I hear him up the stree… Bird of ill omen, flapping wide The pinion of a printed sheet, His hoarse note scares the eventid… Of slaughter, theft, and suicide
The mountains in fantastic lines Sweep, blue-white, to the sky, whi… Blue as blue gems; athwart the pin… The lake gleams blue. We three were here, three years go…
She, who so long has lain Stone-stiff with folded wings, Within my heart again The brown bird wakes and sings. Brown nightingale, whose strain
Most wonderful and strange it seem… Who but a little time ago was tost High on the waves of passion and o… With aching heat and wildly throbb… Who peered into the darkness, deem…
I knew not if to laugh or weep; They sat and talked of you— “'Twas here he sat; ’twas this he… ’Twas that he used to do. ”Here is the book wherein he read,
What does youth know of love? Little enough, I trow! He plucks the myrtle for his brow, For his forehead the rose. Nay, but of love
The sky is silver-grey; the long Slow waves caress the shore.- On such a day as this I have been… Who shall be glad no more.
I may not weep, not weep, and he i… A weary, weary weight of tears uns… Through the long day in my sad hea… The horrid sun with all unpitying… Shines down into the dreary weavin…
(A Fragment)>/i> What, have I waked again? I never… To see the rosy dawn, or ev’n this… Dull, solemn stillness, ere the da… The lamp burns low; low burns the…
Cruel? I think there never was a… More cruel, thro’ all the weary da… This is no dream, my heart kept on… But sober certainty of waking blis… Dreams? O, I know their faces—goo…
"Mein Herz, mein Herz ist trau… Doch lustig leuchtet der Mai" There’s May amid the meadows, There’s May amid the trees; Her May-time note the cuckoo
Believe me, this was true last nig… Tho’ it is false to-day. —A.M.F. Robinson. A fair dream to my chamber flew: Such a crowd of folk that stirred,
Two terrors fright my soul by nigh… The first is Life, and with her c… A weary, winding train of maidens… With forward-fronting eyes, too sa… Upon whose kindred faces, blank an…
A haunted town thou art to me.<… —Andrew Lang To-day in Florence all the air Is soft with spring, with sunlight… In the tall street gay folks are m…