#EnglishWriters
She turned the page of wounds and… With trembling fingers. In a brea… The gladness of her life became Naught but a memory and a name. Farewell! Farewell! I might not s…
Across the Glory of the glowing s… A veil is drawn of shadowed mists… From lavishness from God’s late g… So, after farewell said, fond memo… Of words and looks, now over, come…
THE LARK above our heads doth k… A heaven we see not here below; She sees it, and for joy she sings… Then falls with ineffectual wings. Ah, soaring soul! faint not nor ti…
If one should strive to reach a st… He would not build a ladder high, Seek foot by foot to climb so far, And step by step ascend the sky; But he would seek the wild bird’s…
Light falls the rain On link and laine, After the burning day; And the bright scene, Blue, gold, and green,
Watchman, watchman, what of the ni… What of the night to tell? The heavens are dark, and never a… But the far-off flicker of Hell. But the steed is in the stall,
The dews were on the hedges, The mist was on the mead, When down among the sedges I wrought my pipe of reed. I blew my pipe with power.
Who knows the deeps, where the wat… Leagues from the light away? Who knows the heights, where myria… Fill heaven with endless day? The earth goes on—seeks and loses…
O CHANTRY of the Cherubim, Down-looking on the stream! Beneath thy boughs the day grows d… Through windows comes the gleam; A thousand raptures fill the air,
White-faced Winter Roses, O’er the grave I plant you Where the dead reposes, That a soul may haunt you, And your ghostly whiteness
Hark! ’tis the rush of the horses, The crash of the galloping gun! The stars are out of their courses… The hour of Doom has begun. Leap from thy scabbard, O sword!
Not here in the populous town, In the playhouse or mart, Not here in the ways gray and brow… Bnt afar on the green-swelling dow… Is the home of my heart.
The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world… With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes,
LONG ago, on a bright spring day… I passed a little child at play; And as I passed, in childish glee She called to me, “Come and play… But my eyes were fixed on a far-of…
An acorn swung On an oak-tree bough; So long it had hung, It would fain fall now To the kindly earth,