#EnglishWriters
WHEN the merry spring-tide Floods all the land; Nature hath a Mother’s heart, Gives with open hand; Flowers running up the lane
The Day goes down red darkling, The moaning waves dash out the lig… And there is not a star of hope sp… On the threshold of my night. Wild winds of Autumn go wailing
Dark, dark the night, and tearfull… Lost in the Shadows, feeling for… But cannot find it. Here’s no hel… And God is very far off with His… Hush, hush, faint heart! why this…
TRUE Poets conquer Glory—do not… It; do not beg their way to Fame; Nor at her skirts in private bend… Nor sow the public broadcast with… They are the great High Priests o…
The Delian diver wrecked her life… A pearl she saw by Visionary glea… And died with empty hand that coul… The treasure only Real in her dre…
The flower you placed within my bu… Has faded; but there lives within… Another rose, unfolding hour by ho… Your beauty’s self in its immortal… So living-warm this dainty blossom…
SPIRIT Divine, we yearn and str… Within our souls to keep alive Some likeness of Thy love! But 'tis at best a glimpse, a glea… Uncertain as a troubled stream
WE are not only where we seem To live, but in some Astral gleam Dwell also in a world of dream! Some heavenward window opes above The shut-up soul, to lean out of,
AT the Last Day while all the re… Are soundly sleeping underground, He will be up clean-shaved and dre… An hour before the Trumpets sound…
HAS Man a spirit that’s more tha… A spirit that walks in sleep or in… Shakes off at will its dust of the… And, waking by night, goes wanderi… To work its wish with a noiseless…
FATHER in Heaven, we seek Thy… When darkness is our dwelling-plac… Our foolish hearts, that daily roa… Would nightly nestle with Thee at… Be with us Here, and grant that w…
THERE is no gleam of glory gone, For those who read in Nature’s Bo… No lack of triumph in their look Who stand in Her Eternal Dawn. Friends of a failing Faith! while…
A MERRY sound of clapping hands… A call to see the sight; And lo! the first soft snow-flakes… So exquisitely virginal: 'Tis my wee Nell at window stands…
Surrounded by unnumbered Foes, Against my soul the battle goes! Yet though I weary, sore-distress… I know that I shall reach my Rest… I lift my tearful eyes above,—
They pity Pegasus because The Matrimonial Car he draws Along the ruts of life: And hot and dusty is the road, And heavy is the living load