#EnglishWriters
Ever, ever Stir and shiver The reeds and rushes By the river: Ever, ever,
Far are those tranquil hills, Dyed with fair evening’s rose; On urgent, secret errand bent, A traveller goes. Approach him strangers three,
If you would happy company win, Dangle a palm-nut from a tree, Idly in green to sway and spin, Its snow-pulped kernel for bait; a… A nimble titmouse enter in.
Who said, “Peacock Pie”? The old King to the sparrow: Who said, “Crops are ripe”? Rust to the harrow: Who said, “Where sleeps she now?
Thistle and darnell and dock grew… And a bush, in the corner, of may, On the orchard wall I used to spr… In the blazing heat of the day; Half asleep and half awake,
’Tis silence on the enchanted lake… And silence in the air serene, Save for the beating of her heart, The lovely-eyed Evangeline. She sings across the waters clear
At the edge of All the Ages A Knight sate on his steed, His armor red and thin with rust His soul from sorrow freed; And he lifted up his visor
All winter through I bow my head beneath the driving rain; the North Wind powders me with sn… and blows me black again; at midnight 'neath a maze of stars
Hi! Handsome hunting man, Fire your little gun, Bang! Now that animal Is dead and dumb and done. Never more to peep again, creep ag…
Dim-berried is the mistletoe With globes of sheenless grey, The holly mid ten thousand thorns Smoulders its fires away; And in the manger Jesus sleeps
The old Pig said to the little pi… ‘In the forest is truffles and mas… Follow me then, all ye little pigs… Follow me fast!’ The Charcoal-burner sat in the sh…
‘Won’t you look out of your window… Quoth the Fairy, nidding, nodding… ‘Can’t you look out of your window… Quoth the Fairy, laughing softly… But the air was still, the cherry…
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—
Low on his fours the Lion Treads with the surly Bear; But Men straight upward from the… Walk with their heads in the air; The free sweet winds of heaven,
What lovely things Thy hand hath made: The smooth-plumed bird In its emerald shade, The seed of the grass,