#EnglishWriters
When nuts behind the hazel-leaf Are brown as the squirrel that hun… And the fields are rich with the s… ‘Mid the blue cornflower and the y… And the farmer glows and beams in…
When comes the lighted day for men… Life’s meaning, with the work befo… Till this good gift of breath from… Earth will not hear her children’s… Deplore the chieftain fall’n in so…
A brook glancing under green leave… And full of a gurgling melody ever… Renewed thro’ all changes of Heav… Unceasing in moonlight, but hushed…
’Tis true the wisdom that my mind… Through contemplation from a heart… By many tempests may be stained an… The summer flies it mightily attra… Yet they seem choicer than your so…
To sit on History in an easy chai… Still rivalling the wild hordes by… Sure, this beseems a race of lagga… Unwarned by those plain letters sc… If more than hands’ and armsful be…
Not solitarily in fields we find Earth’s secret open, though one pa… Her plainest, such as children spe… With bird and beast; raised letter… Not where the troubled passions to…
The senses loving Earth or well o… Ravel yet more the riddle of our l… The mind is in their trammels, and… By trimming fear-bred tales; nor d… To find in nature things which les…
Thus piteously Love closed what h… The union of this ever-diverse pai… These two were rapid falcons in a… Condemned to do the flitting of th… Lovers beneath the singing sky of…
High climbs June’s wild rose, Her bush all blooms in a swarm; And swift from the bud she blows, In a day when the wooer is warm; Frank to receive and give,
That Garden of sedate Philosophy Once flourished, fenced from passi… A shining spot upon a shaggy map; Where mind and body, in fair junct… Luted their joyful concord; like t…
From twig to twig the spider weave… At noon his webbing fine. So near to mute the zephyrs flute That only leaflets dance. The sun draws out of hazel leaves
No state is enviable. To the luck… Of some few favoured men I would… I bleed, but her who wounds I wil… Have I not felt her heart as ’twe… Beat thro’ me? could I hurt her?…
Not solely that the Future she de… And the fair life which in the dis… For all men, beckoning out from di… Nor that the passing hour’s suppor… Have lost the keen-edged flavour,…
Whate’er I be, old England is my… So there’s my answer to the judges… I’m nothing of a fox, nor of a lam… I don’t know how to bleat nor how… I’m for the nation!
Close Echo hears the woodman’s ax… To double on it, as in glee, With clap of hands, and little lac… Of meaning in her repartee. For all shall fall,