#EnglishWriters
“Lest that by any means When I have preached to others I… Should be a castaway.” If some on… Would take that text and preach to… Some one who could forget his trut…
HAD I a heart till that day? Who knows, who knows? Ere the leaf burst upwards can any… ‘Here is a green thing hidden away In the lingering new year snows’?
Young laughters, and my music! Ay… The voice can reach no blending mi… ’Tis the bird’s trill because the… And spring means trilling on a blo… ’Tis the spring joy that has no wh…
The thrush that, yet alone, pipes… Knows she will come in time to bui… Knows she’ll be she his tiny soul… ’Tis love-time at the hawthorn blo… And the new flower-cups bare their…
DEAD, my beloved! This small pur… That grows upon thy grave shall ha… To ripen and to wane, to bloom and… But thou, strong doer, mightst not… But thou, oh noblest, mightst not…
The sun drops luridly into the wes… darkness has raised her arms to dr… before the time, not waiting as of… till he has come to her behind the… and the smooth waves grow sullen i…
Good friend, be patient: goes the… well, can you groove it straight w… and, sigh or scold, and, argue or… what have you done but waste your… on impotent fool’s battles with th…
DAY is dead, and let us sleep, Sleep a while or sleep for aye, ’Twere the best if we unknew While to-morrow dawned and grew; It may bring us time to weep:
SMALL current of the wilds afar… Changing and sudden as a baby’s mo… Now a green babbling rivulet in th… Now loitering broad and shallow th… Or threading 'mid the naked shoals…
THE rose said ‘Let but this long… And I shall feel my sweetness in… And pour its fullness into life at… But when the rain was done, But when dawn sparkled through unc…
Wild wintry wind, storm through th… Dash the black clouds against the… Hiss through the billows seething… Fling the rock-surf in spray on hi… Hurl the high seas on harbour bars…
WINGED voice to tell the skies… Dear earth-born lark, sing on, sin… Sing into heaven that she may hear ;Sing what thou wilt, so she but k… Thine ecstasy of summer mirth
A week ago; only a little week: it seems so much much longer, thou… is every morning still my yesterda… as all my life 'twill be my yester… for all my life is morrow to my lo…
TELL thee truth, sweet; no. Truth is cross and sad and cold: Lies are pitiful and kind, Honey-soft as Love’s own tongue: Let me, love, lie so.
LOVE is dying. Why then, let it… Trample it down, that it die more… What is a rose that has lost its b… What is a fruit with its freshness… And where is the worth of the twil…