#EnglishWriters
(an Incident of Froom Valley) “THY husband—poor, poor Heart!—i… Dead, out by Moreford Rise; A bull escaped the barton-shed, Gored him, and there he lies!”
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…
We two kept house, the Past and I… The Past and I; I tended while it hovered nigh, Leaving me never alone. It was a spectral housekeeping
A dream of mine flew over the mead To the halls where my old Love… And it drew me on to follow its le… And I stood at her window-pane… And I saw but a thing of flesh an…
Come again to the place Where your presence was as a leaf… Down a drouthy way whose ascent be… The bloom on the farer’s face. Come again, with the feet
The Roman Road runs straight and… As the pale parting-line in hair Across the heath. And thoughtful… Contrast its days of Now and Then… And delve, and measure, and compar…
‘Love, while you were away there c… From whence I cannot tell - A plaintive lady pale and passionl… Who bent her eyes upon me critical… And weighed me with a wearing wist…
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…
Beeny did not quiver, Juliot grew not gray, Thin Valency’s river Held its wonted way. Bos seemed not to utter
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
‘Why do you stand in the dripping… Cold-lipped, unconscious, wet to t… When there are firesides near?’ sa… ‘I told him I wished him dead,’ s… ‘Yea, cried it in my haste to one
Scene.—A wide stretch of fallow g… frozen to iron hardness. Three lar… and wistfully eyeing the surface.… dull grey. (Triolet)
When wilt thou wake, O Mother, wa… As one who, held in trance, has la… By vacant rote and prepossession s… The coils that thou hast wrought u… Wherein have place, unrealized by…
‘What are you still, still thinkin… He asked in vague surmise, ’That you stare at the wick unblin… With those great lost luminous eye… ‘O, I see a poor moth burning
I rose up as my custom is On the eve of All-Souls’ day, And left my grave for an hour or s… To call on those I used to know Before I passed away.