#EnglishWriters
He bends his travel-tarnished feet To where she wastes in clay: From day-dawn until eve he fares Along the wintry way; From day-dawn until eve repairs
Around the house the flakes fly fa… And all the berries now are gone From holly and cotoneaster Around the house. The flakes fly!… Shutting indoors that crumb-outcas…
They are not those who used to fee… When we were young—they cannot be… These shapes that now bereave and… They are not those who used to fee… For would they not fair terms conc…
He enters, and mute on the edge of… Sits a thin—faced lady, a stranger… A type of decayed gentility; And by some small signs he well ca… That she comes to him almost break…
This love puts all humanity from m… I can but maledict her, pray her d… For giving love and getting love o… Feeding a heart that else mine own… How much I love I know not, life…
UPON a noon I pilgrimed through A pasture, mile by mile, Unto the place where I last saw My dead Love’s living smile. And sorrowing I lay me down
Who, then, was Cestius, And what is he to me? - Amid thick thoughts and memories m… One thought alone brings he. I can recall no word
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…
Why should this flower delay so lo… To show its tremulous plumes? Now is the time of plaintive robin… When flowers are in their tombs… Through the slow summer, when the…
Only a man harrowing clods In a slow silent walk, With an old horse that stumbles an… Half asleep as they stalk. Only thin smoke without flame
I hear that maiden still Of Keinton Mandeville Singing, in flights that played As wind-wafts through us all, Till they made our mood a thrall
"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…
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,
Who were the twain that trod this… So many times together Hither and back, In spells of certain and uncertain… Commonplace in conduct they
While the far farewell music thins… And the broad bottoms rip the bear… All smalling slowly to the gray se… And each significant red smoke-sha… Keen sense of severance everywhere…