#EnglishWriters
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pol… I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance
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.
Was I a Samurai renowned, Two-sworded, fierce, immense of bo… A histrion angular and profound? A priest? a porter?—Child, althou… I have forgotten clean, I know
Where forlorn sunsets flare and fa… On desolate sea and lonely sand, Out of the silence and the shade What is the voice of strange comma… Calling you still, as friend calls…
The gaunt brown walls Look infinite in their decent mean… There is nothing of home in the no… The fulsome fire. The atmosphere
These, to you now, O, more than e… Now that the Ancient Enemy Has passed, and we, we two that ar… A piece of perfect Life Turn to so ravishing a shape of D…
O Falmouth is a fine town with sh… And I wish from my heart it’s the… I wish from my heart I was far aw… Sitting in my parlor and talking t… For it’s home, dearie home-it’s ho…
Between the dusk of a summer night And the dawn of a summer day, We caught at a mood as it passed i… And we bade it stoop and stay. And what with the dawn of night be…
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no regret For all the tumult that had been. The distances were still and green… And streaked with shadows cool and…
On the way to Kew, By the river old and gray, Where in the Long Ago, We laughed and loitered so, I met a ghost to-day,
In the waste hour Between to-day and yesterday We watched, while on my arm - Living flesh of her flesh, bone of… Dabbled in sweat the sacred head
Army Reserve; a worshipper of Bob… With whom he stripped the smock fr… Neat as his mount, that neatest am… Whenever pageants pass, or meeting… He moves conspicuous, vigilant, se…
Take, dear, my little sheaf of son… For, old or new, All that is good in them belongs Only to you; And, singing as when all was young…
THE day’s high work is over and d… And these no more will need the su… Blow, you bugles of England, blow… These are gone where all must go, Mightily gone from the field they…
A hard north-easter fifty winters… Has bronzed and shrivelled sere he… Her locks are wild and grey, her t… Her foot is vast, her bowed leg sp… A wide blue cloak, a squat and stu…