#EnglishWriters
’Twas in that mellow season of the… When the hot sun singes the yellow… Till they be gold,—and with a broa… The Moon looks down on Ceres and… When more abundantly the spider we…
What is a mine—a treasury—a dower— A magic talisman of mighty power? A poet’s wide possession of the ea… He has the enjoyment of a flower’s… Before its budding—ere the first r…
Lov’st thou not, Alice, with the… To see the hardy Fisher hoist his… And stretch his sail towards the o… Like God’s own beadsman going for… His net into the deep, which doth…
Along the Woodford road there com… Of wheels, and Mr. Rounding’s nea… Struggles along, drawn by a pair o… With Reverend Mr. Crow and six s… Who ever and anon declare their jo…
Mother of light! how fairly dost t… Over those hoary crests, divinely… Art thou that huntress of the silv… Fabled of old? Or rather dost tho… Those cloudy summits thence to gaz…
I saw pale Dian, sitting by the b… Of silver falls, the overflow of f… From cloudy steeps; and I grew sa… Endymion’s foot was silent on thos… And he but a hush’d name, that Si…
Lady, wouldst thou heiress be To Winters cold and cruel part? When he sets the rivers free, Thou dost still lock up thy heart;… Thou that shouldst outlast the sno…
Author of The Cook’s Oracle, Observations… and The Pleasure of Making a Will. ‘I rule the roast, as Milton says…
The lady lay in her bed, Her couch so warm and soft, But her sleep was restless and bro… For turning often and oft From side to side, she mutter’d an…
The curse of Adam, the old curse… Though I inherit in this feverish… Of worldly toil, vain wishes, and… And fruitless thought, in Care’s… Yet more sweet honey than of bitte…
The swallow with summer Will wing o’er the seas, The wind that I sigh to Will visit thy trees. The ship that it hastens
Thou happy, happy elf! (But stop,—first let me kiss away… Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he’s poking peas into hi… Thou merry, laughing sprite!
Ah, sweet, thou little knowest how I wake and passionate watches keep… And yet while I address thee now, Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep… ’Tis sweet enough to make me weep,
Oh, heavy day! oh, day of woe! To misery a poster, Why was I ever farrowed, why Not spitted for a roaster? In this world, pigs, as well as me…
I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon