#EnglishWriters
From the slow march and muffled dr… And crowds distrest, And book and bell, at length I ha… To my full rest. A ten years’ rule beneath the sun
The sun said, watching my watering… "Some morn you’ll pass away; These flowers and plants I parch… Who’ll water them that day? "Those banks and beds whose shape…
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,
Well, World, you have kept faith… Kept faith with me; Upon the whole you have proved to… Much as you said you were. Since as a child I used to lie
‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like t… In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense of a fugitiv… Fetched back from its thickening s… Hence the only prime
When I set out for Lyonnesse, A hundred miles away, The rime was on the spray, And starlight lit my lonesomeness When I set out for Lyonnesse
When you shall see me lined by too… 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 concedes…
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…
I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre—grey, And Winter’s dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The tangled bine—stems scored the…
WHEN I look forth at dawning, po… Field, flock, and lonely tree, All seem to look at me Like chastened children sitting si… Their faces dulled, constrained, a…
I opened my shutter at sunrise, And looked at the hill hard by, And I heartily grieved for the co… Who wandered up there to die. I let in the morn on the morrow,
I saw a slowly-stepping train— Lined on the brows, scoop-eyed and… Following in files across a twilit… A strange and mystic form the fore… II
There was a stunted handpost just… Only a few feet high: She was tired, and we stopped in t… At the crossways close thereby. She leant back, being so weary, ag…
In Memory of one of the Writer’s… with Napoleon In a ferny byway Near the great South-Wessex High… A homestead raised its breakfast-s…
Moments the mightiest pass calenda… And when the Absolute In backward Time outgave the deed… Whereby all life is stirred: “Let one be born and throned whose…