Passonate writing and love writing poems
They pinned two medals on my chest, a yellow and a brown, And lovely ladies made me blush, such pretty words they said.
By Bg Das3 years ago in Poets
From Swindon out to White Horse Hill I walked, in morning rain, And saw your shadow lying there. As clear and plain
Ye have been fresh and green, Ye have been fill'd with flowers; And ye the walks have been Where the maids have spent their hours.
O blessed spirit! who dost oft return, Ministering comfort to my nights of woe, From eyes which Death, relenting in his blow,
Among the fields the camomile Seems blown steam in the lightning's glare. Unusual odors drench the air. Night speaks above; the angry smile
Dear Howard, from the soft assaults of love Poets and painters never are secure; Can I untouch'd the fair one's passions move,
Thee have I seen in some waste Arden old, A white-browed maiden by a foaming stream, With eyes profound and looks like threaded gold,
Adown the valley dripped a stream, White lilies drooped on either side; Our hearts, in spite of us, will dream
His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed. His eyes come open with a pull of will, Helped by the yellow may-flowers by his head.
When night brings the hour Of starlight and joy, There comes to my bower A fairy-winged boy; With eyes so bright,
Belated swallow, whither flying? The day is dead, the light is dying, The night draws near: Where is thy nest, slow put together,
I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night; I went to the window to see the sight; All the Dead that ever I knew Going one by one and two by two.