#EnglishWriters
A big bud of moon hangs out of the… Star—spiders spinning their thread Hang high suspended, withouten res… Watching us overhead. Come then under the trees, where t…
I listen to the stillness of you, My dear, among it all; I feel your silence touch my words… And take them in thrall. My words fly off a forge
Now I am come again, you who have… My coming, why do you look away fr… Why does your cheek burn against m… Such anger as sets your mouth unwo… Ah, here I sit while you break th…
Yours is the shame and sorrow, But the disgrace is mine; Your love was dark and thorough, Mine was the love of the sun for a… He creates with his shine.
Last night a thief came to me And struck at me with something da… I cried, but no one could hear me, I lay dumb and stark. When I awoke this morning
Since you did depart Out of my reach, my darling, Into the hidden, I see each shadow start With recognition, and I
There is nothing to save, now all… but a tiny core of stillness in th… like the eye of a violet.
Oh the green glimmer of apples in… Lamps in a wash of rain! Oh the wet walk of my brown hen th… Oh tears on the window pane! Nothing now will ripen the bright…
My world is a painted fresco, wher… Of old, ineffectual lives linger b… An endless tapestry the past has w… The halls of my life, compelling m… The surface of dreams is broken,
Now I am all One bowl of kisses, Such as the tall Slim votaresses Of Egypt filled
The profoundest of all sensualitie… is the sense of truth and the next deepest sensual exper… is the sense of justice.
A faint, sickening scent of irises Persists all morning. Here in a j… A fine proud spike of purple irise… Rising above the class—room litter… To see the class’s lifted and bend…
Along the avenue of cypresses, All in their scarlet cloaks and su… Of linen, go the chanting choriste… The priests in gold and black, the… And all along the path to the ceme…
It is conceit that kills us and makes us cowards instead of go… Under the great Command: Know thy… we have become fatally self—consci… Now we have to admit we can’t know…
MANY roses in the wind Are tapping at the window-sash. A hawk is in the sky; his wings Slowly begin to plash. The roses with the west wind rappi…