#EnglishWriters
[Mr. Oscar Wilde, having discover… And wilt thou, Oscar, from us fle… And must we, henceforth, wholly se… Shall thy laborious _jeux-d’esprit… Sadden our lives no more for ever?
So without rest or tarriance all t… Until the world was blear with com… Forth fared the princely fugitive,… His wearied feet till morn returni… Some village all a-hum with wakefu…
I know not if they erred Who thought to see The tale of all the times to be, Star-character’d; I know not, neither care,
’Tis human fortune’s happiest heig… A spirit melodious, lucid, poised,… Second in order of felicity I hold it, to have walk’d with suc… * * * * *
What! and shall _we_, with such su… As age demands in reverence from t… Await these crumbs of praise from… And doubt of our own greatness til… The signet of your Goethes or Vol…
I made a little song about the ros… And sang it for the rose to hear, Nor ever marked until the music’s… A lily that was listening near. The red red rose flushed redder wi…
Who draws to-day the unrighteous s… Behold him stand, the Man Forswor… The warrior of the faithless word, The pledge disowned, the covenant… Who prates of honour, truth, and t…
Westward a league the city lay, wi… Cloud’s imminent umbrage o’er it:… The incendiary sun Dropped from the womb o’ the vapou… ‘Mongst huddled towers and temples…
’Twas at this season, year by year… The singer who lies songless here Was wont to woo a less austere, Less deep repose, Where Rotha to Winandermere
Clear as of old the great voice ri… While Sherwood’s oak-leaves twine… The voice of him the master and th… Of one whole age and legion of the… Who sang his morning-song when Co…
God-seeking thou hast journeyed fa… On dawn-lit mountain-tops thy soul… To hear His trailing garments wan… And where 'mid thunderous glooms g… Vainly thou sought’st His shadow…
Go, Verse, nor let the grass of t… Beneath thy feet iambic. Southwar… O’er Thamesis his stream, nor hal… Thou reach the summit of a suburb… To lettered fame not unfamiliar: t…
A squalid, hideous town, where str… With vomit of a hundred roaring mi… Hither occasion calls me; and ev’n… All in the sable reek that wantonl… Defames the sunlight and deflowers…
Behold life builded as a goodly ho… And grown a mansion ruinous With winter blowing through its cr… The master paceth up and down his… And in the empty hours
Thou burden of all songs the earth… Thou retrospect in Time’s reverte… Thou metaphor of everything that d… That dies ill-starred, or dies bel… And therefore blest and wise,-