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Letter "W" » William Ernest Henley
"The nightingale has a lyre of gold,
The lark's is a clarion call,
And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute,
But I love him best of all.
For his song is all the joy of life,
And we in the mad spring weather,
We two have listened till he sang
Our hearts and lips together."
Author: William Ernest Henley
About: Birds
"Or ever the knightly years were gone
With the old world to the grave,
I was a king in Babylon
And you were a Christian slave."
Author: William Ernest Henley
About: Evolution
"It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishment the
scroll. I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul."
Author: William Ernest Henley
About: Inspirational
"What is the voice of strange command
Calling you still, as friend calls friend,
With love that cannot brook delay,
To rise and follow the ways that wend
Over the hills and far away."
Author: William Ernest Henley
About: Mountains
"A late lark twitters from the quiet skies:
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers as in content,
There falls on the old, gray city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace."
Author: William Ernest Henley
About: Night
"The smoke ascends
In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires
Shine and are changed. In the valley
Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun
Closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with the sense of the triumphing night,–
Night with train of stars
And her great gift of sleep."
Author: William Ernest Henley
About: Night
"O Death! O Change! O Time!
Without you, O! the insufferable eyes
Of these poor Might-Have-Beens,
These fatuous, ineffectual yesterdays."
Author: William Ernest Henley
About: Past
"Men may scoff, and men may pray,
But they pay
Every pleasure with a pain."
Author: William Ernest Henley
About: Pleasure
"Here is the ghost
Of a summer that lived for us,
Here is a promise
Of summer to be."
Author: William Ernest Henley
About: Summer
"Failing yet gracious,
Slow pacing, soon homing,
A patriarch that strolls
Through the tents of his children,
The sun as he journeys
His round on the lower
Ascents of the blue,
Washes the roofs
And the hillsides with clarity."
Author: William Ernest Henley
About: Sun
Pages: 1
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