#EnglishWriters
All but blind In his chambered hole, Gropes for worms The four-clawed mole. All but blind
Some one came knocking At my wee, small door; Someone came knocking; I’m sure-sure-sure; I listened, I opened,
Sterile these stones By time in ruin laid. Yet many a creeping thing Its haven has made In these least crannies, where fal…
No breath of wind, No gleam of sun— Still the white snow Whirls softly down Twig and bough
The seas of England are our old d… Let the loud billow of the shingly… Sing freedom on her breezes evermo… To all earth’s ships that sailing… The gaunt sea-nettle be our fortit…
While at her bedroom window once, Learning her task for school, Little Louisa lonely sat In the morning clear and cool, She slanted her small bead-brown e…
That one, alone, Who’s dared and gone To seek the Magic Wonderstone, No fear, or care, Or black despair
Peace in thy hands, Peace in thine eyes, Peace on thy brow; Flower of a moment in the eternal… Peace with me now.
See this house, how dark it is Beneath its vast-boughed trees! Not one trembling leaflet cries To that Watcher in the skies— ‘Remove, remove thy searching gaze…
It’s a very odd thing - As odd can be - That whatever Miss T eats Turns into Miss T.; Porridge and apples,
When Susan’s work was done, she’d… With one fat guttering candle lit, And window opened wide to win The sweet night air to enter in; There, with a thumb to keep her pl…
When all, and birds, and creeping… When the dark of night is deep, From the moving wonder of their li… Commit themselves to sleep. Without a thought, or fear, they s…
Bitterly, England must thou griev… Though none of these poor men who… But did within his soul believe That death for thee was glorified. Ever they watched it hovering near…
Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier’s boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are—
Winter is fallen early On the house of Stare; Birds in reverberating flocks Haunt its ancestral box; Bright are the plenteous berries