#EnglishWriters
A LATE lark twitters from the qu… And from the west, Where the sun, his day’s work ende… Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, gray city
Blue-eyed and bright of face but w… Into the sere of virginal decay, I view her as she enters, day by d… As a sweet sunset almost overpast. Kindly and calm, patrician to the…
If it should come to be, This proof of you and me, This type and sign Of hours that smiled and shone, And yet seemed dead and gone
Gulls in an aery morrice Gleam and vanish and gleam . . . The full sea, sleepily basking, Dreams under skies of dream. Gulls in an aery morrice
O, gather me the rose, the rose, While yet in flower we find it, For summer smiles, but summer goes… And winter waits behind it! For with the dream foregone, foreg…
O, have you blessed, behind the st… The blue sheen in the skies, When June the roses round her cal… Then do you know the light that fa… From her belovèd eyes.
In the year that’s come and gone,… Stooping slowly, gave us heart, an… In the year that’s coming on, thou… We at least will not forget aught… In the year that’s come and gone,…
Spring at her height on a morn at… Sails that laugh from a flying squ… Pomp of harmony, rapture of rhyme… Youth is the sign of them, one and… Winter sunsets and leaves that fal…
Once on a time There was a little boy: a master-m… By virtue of a Book Of magic—O, so magical it filled His life with visionary pomps
It came with the threat of a wanin… And the wail of an ebbing tide, But many a woman has lived for les… And many a man has died; For life upon life took hold and p…
The gaunt brown walls Look infinite in their decent mean… There is nothing of home in the no… The fulsome fire. The atmosphere
Life is bitter. All the faces of… Young and old, are gray with trava… Must we only wake to toil, to tire… In the sun, among the leaves, upon… Slumber stills to dreamy death the…
Two and thirty is the ploughman. He’s a man of gallant inches, And his hair is close and curly, And his beard; But his face is wan and sunken,
Laughs the happy April morn Thro’ my grimy, little window, And a shaft of sunshine pushes Thro’ the shadows in the square. Dogs are tracing thro’ the grass,
the quiet skies: And from the west, Where the sun, his day’s work ende… Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, gray city