#EnglishWriters
"The quay recedes. Hurrah! Ahead… It’s true I’ve been accustomed no… And joints get rusty, and one’s li… More fit to rest than roam. "But I can stand as yet fair stre…
You did not walk with me Of late to the hill-top tree As in earlier days, By the gated ways: You were weak and lame,
In a solitude of the sea Deep from human vanity, And the Pride of Life that planne… Steel chambers, late the pyres Of her salamandrine fires,
I do not see the hills around, Nor mark the tints the copses wear… I do not note the grassy ground And constellated daisies there. I hear not the contralto note
Here is the ancient floor, Footworn and hollowed and thin, Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in. She sat here in her chair,
Why do you harbour that great chev… Filling up your narrow room? You never preen or plume, Or look in a week at your full—len… Picture of bachelor gloom!
Once more the cauldron of the sun Smears the bookcase with winy red, And here my page is, and there my… And the apple-tree shadows travel… Soon their intangible track will b…
When you shall see me in the toils… My lauded beauties carried off fro… My eyes no longer stars as in thei… My name forgot of Maiden Fair and… When, in your being, heart concede…
Upon a poet’s page I wrote Of old two letters of her name; Part seemed she of the effulgent t… Whence that high singer’s raptur… 'When now I turn the leaf the s…
"O passenger, pray list and catch Our sighs and piteous groans, Half stifled in this jumbled patch Of wrenched memorial stones! "We late-lamented, resting here,
Its roots are bristling in the air Like some mad Earth-god’s spiny h… The loud south-wester’s swell and… Smote it at midnight, and it fell. Thus ends the tree
Past the hills that peep Where the leaze is smiling, On and on beguiling Crisply-cropping sheep; Under boughs of brushwood
NOT a line of her writing have I… Not a thread of her hair, No mark of her late time as dame i… I may picture her there; And in vain do I urge my unsight
Winter is white on turf and tree, And birds are fled; But summer songsters pipe to me, And petals spread, For what I dreamt of secretly
Along the way He walked that day, Watching shapes that reveries limn… And seldom he Had eyes to see