#EnglishWriters
‘Alice, Alice, put on your things… The birds are calling, the church… The sun is shining, and I am here… Waiting—and waiting—for you, my de… Alice, Alice, doff your gown of n…
Go, little book, and be the lookin… Of her dear soul, The mirror of her moments as they… Keeping the whole; Wherein she still may look on yest…
How fast the year is going by! Love, it will be September soon; O let us make the best of June. Already, love, it is July; The rose and honeysuckle go,
Crickets calling, Apples falling. Summer dying, Life is flying. So soon over–
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…
Sometimes my idle heart would roam Far from its quiet happy nest, To seek some other newer home, Some unaccustomed Best: But ere it spreads its foolish win…
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,
Art was a palace once, things grea… And strong and holy, found a templ… Now ’tis a lazar-house of leprous… O shall me hear an English song a… Still English larks mount in the…
Darling little woman, just a littl… Just a little silver word For that dear gold of thine, Only a whisper you have so often h… Only such a whisper as hidden in a…
I nothing did all yesterday But listen to the singing rain On roof and weeping window-pane, And, 'whiles I’d watch the flying… And smoking breakers in the bay:
O ships upon the sea, O shapes of… O lands whose names are made of sp… Old painted empires that are ever… From Cochin-China down to Zanzib… O Beauty simple, soul-less, and b…
Fly, little note, And know no rest Till warm you lie Within that nest Which is her breast;
O little Heart, So much I see Thy hidden smart, So much I long To sing some song
To Man in haste, flushed with imp… Of some great thing to do, so slow… The long delay of Time all idle s… Idle the lordly leisure of the sun… So splendid his design, so brief h…
Silence, whose drowsy eyelids are… And whose half-sleeping eyes are t… On whose still breast the water-li… For all her speech the whisper of… Made of all things that in the wat…