#EnglishWriters
The seeds I sowed – For week unseen – Have pushed up pygmy Shoots of green; So frail you’d think
When music sounds, gone is the ear… And all her lovely things even lov… Her flowers in vision flame, her f… Lift burdened branches, stilled wi… When music sounds, out of the wate…
Dry August burned. A harvest hare Limp on the kitchen table lay, Its fur blood-blubbered, eye astar… While a small child that stood nea… Wept out her heart to see it there…
When the last colours of the day Have from their burning ebbed away… About that ruin, cold and lone, The cricket shrills from stone to… And scattering o’er its darkened g…
Three jolly Farmers Once bet a pound Each dance the others would Off the ground. Out of their coats
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
‘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…
The far moon maketh lovers wise In her pale beauty trembling down, Lending curved cheeks, dark lips,… A strangeness not their own. And, though they shut their lids t…
Here lies a most beautiful lady, Light of step and heart was she; I think she was the most beautiful… That ever was in the West Country… But beauty vanishes, beauty passes…
I was at peace until you came And set a careless mind aflame; I lived in quiet; cold, content; All longing in safe banishment, Until your ghostly lips and eyes
Three and thirty birds there stood In an elder in a wood; Called Melmillo—flew off three, Leaving thirty in the tree; Called Melmillo—nine now gone,
One moment take thy rest. Out of mere nought in space Beauty moved human breast To tell in this far face A dream in noonday seen.
Sterile these stones By time in ruin laid. Yet many a creeping thing Its haven has made In these least crannies, where fal…
Far are those tranquil hills, Dyed with fair evening’s rose; On urgent, secret errand bent, A traveller goes. Approach him strangers three,
When the rose is faded, Memory may still dwell on Her beauty shadowed, And the sweet smell gone. That vanishing loveliness,