#EnglishWriters
There blooms a flower in Trebizon… Stored with such honey for the bee… (So saith the antique book I conn… Of such alluring fragrancy, Not sweeter smells the Eden-tree;
One says he is immoral, and points… Warm sin in ruddy specks upon his… Bigot, one folly of the man you fl… Is more to God than thy lean life…
She bore us in her dreaming womb, And laughed into the face of Deat… She laughed, in her strange agony,… To give her little baby breath. Then, by some holy mystery,
The valiant girls—of them I sing— Who daily to their business go, Happy as larks, and fresh as sprin… They are the bravest things I kno… At eight, from out my lazy tower,
Crickets calling, Apples falling. Summer dying, Life is flying. So soon over–
When the embalmer closed my eyes, And all the family went in black, And shipped me off to Paradise, I had no thought of coming back; I dreamed of undisturbed repose
I crossed the orchard, walking hom… The rising moon was at my back, The apples and the moonlight fell Together on the railroad track. Then, speeding through the evening…
Dear Heart, this is my book of bo… The changing story of the wanderin… That found at last its ending in t… The love it sought and sang astray… With wild young heart and happy ea…
I am too proud of loving thee, too… Of the sweet months and years that… To feign a heart indifferent to th… Too thankful-happy that the gods a… Our orbits cross,
You bear a flower in your hand, You softly take it through the air… Lest it should be too roughly fann… And break and fall, for all your c… Love is like that, the lightest br…
All the flowers cannot weave A garland worthy of your hair, Not a bird in the four winds Can sing of you that is so fair. Only the spheres can sing of you;
(TO JOHN FRASER) There, in my mind’s-eye, pure it l… My lodger’s vote! ’Twas mine to-d… It seemed a sort of maidenhood, My little power for public good,—
(Chant Royal) O MIGHTY Queen, our Lady of th… The light, the music, and the hone… Blent in one Power, one passionat… Man calleth Love-'Sweet love,' th…
I will walk down to the valley And lay my head in her breast, Where are two white doves, The Queen of Love’s, In a silken nest;
Ye are young, ye are young, I am old, I am old; And the song has been sung And the story been told. Your locks are as brown