#EnglishWriters
[Iliad, B. XVII. V. 426] So now the horses of Aiakides, of… Wept, since first they were ware o… Cast down low in the whirl of the… Sooth, meanwhile, then did Autome…
The song of a nightingale sent thr… Low-lidded with twilight, and tran… Tranced with a tender enchantment;… That wins immortality even while p…
That was the chirp of Ariel You heard, as overhead it flew, The farther going more to dwell, And wing our green to wed our blue… But whether note of joy or knell,
Long with us, now she leaves us; s… Beneath our sacred sod: A woman vowed to Good, whom all a… The daylight gift of God.
You like not that French novel? T… You think it quite unnatural. Let… The actors are, it seems, the usua… Husband, and wife, and lover. She… In England we’ll not hear of it.…
Flowers of the willow-herb are woo… Flowers of the briar berries red; Speeding their seed as the breeze… Flowers of the thistle loosen the… Flowers of the clematis drip in be…
Leave the uproar: at a leap Thou shalt strike a woodland path, Enter silence, not of sleep, Under shadows, not of wrath; Breath which is the spirit’s bath
How low when angels fall their bla… Our primal thunder tells: known is… Of music, that nigh throning wisdo… And one false note cast wailful to… Now seems the language heard of L…
Under what spell are we debased By fears for our inviolate Isle, Whose record is of dangers faced And flung to heel with even smile? Is it a vaster force, a subtler gu…
Thou our beloved and light of Ear… The sea of darkness to the yonder… There dost thou shine a light tran… Through love to kindle in our soul…
The long cloud edged with streamin… Soars from the West; The red leaf mounts with it away, Showing the nest A blot among the branches bare:
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…
Earth was not Earth before her so… Nor Beauty Beauty ere young Love… And thou when I lay hidden wast a… At city-windows, touching eyelids… To none by her fresh wingedness en…
Ask, is Love divine, Voices all are, ay. Question for the sign, There’s a common sigh. Would we, through our years,
Captive on a foreign shore, Far from Ilion’s hoary wave, Agamemnon’s bridal slave Speaks Futurity no more: Death is busy with her grave.