Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt (17 August 1840[1] – 10 September 1922[2]), sometimes spelled Wilfred, was an English poet and writer. He and his wife, Lady Anne Blunt travelled in the MiddleБольше
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#written2 мин. чтения

Written At Florence

O
LD, in very truth thou art too young;
When wilt thou learn to wear the garb of age
World, with thy covering of yellow flowers,

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#the1 мин. чтения

The Two Highwaymen

I
NG have had a quarrel set with
Because he robb'd me
Every day of

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#manon1 мин. чтения

To Manon On His Fortune In Loving Her

I
ID not choose thee, dearest
It was
That made the choice, not I

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#three pictures2 мин. чтения

Three Pictures

I have seen many things in many lands,
And many sorrows known and many joys,
And clutched at pleasure's cup with lawless hands,
And drunk my fill of mirth and lust and noise,

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#one2 мин. чтения

To One Who Would Make A Confession

Oh
leave the past to buy its own dead
The past is naught to us, the present all
What need of last year's leaves to strew Love's bed

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#laughter2 мин. чтения

Laughter And Death

RE is no laughter in the natural world Of beast or fish or bird, though no sad doubt Of their futurity to them unfurled Has dared to check the mirth-compelling shout
The lion roars his solemn thunder out To the sleeping woods
The eagle s...

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#day2 мин. чтения

St Valentines Day

AY, all day,
I rode upon the down,
With hounds and horsemen, a brave
On this side in its glory lay the sea,

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#twenty days2 мин. чтения

Twenty Days

Twenty days are barely gone,
I was merry all the day
Folly was my butt of scorn
Now the fool myself I play

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#the4 мин. чтения

The Desolate City

RK to me is the earth
Dark to me are the heavens
Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars
Desolate are the streets

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#gibraltar1 мин. чтения

Gibraltar

EN weeks of sea, and twice seven days of
Upon the huge Atlantic, and once
We ride into still water and the
Of a sweet evening, screen'd by either

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#Песня1 мин. чтения

Song

O
LY not,
Pleasure, pleasant-hearted Pleasure;  Fold me thy wings,
I prithee, yet and stay:      For my heart no measure      Knows, nor other

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#with esther2 мин. чтения

With Esther

HE who has once been happy is for aye  Out of destruction's reach
His fortune
Holds nothing secret; and Eternity,  Which is a mystery to other men,
Has like a woman given him its joy

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