W. Browne

Cited as W. Browne. — 17 quotations

In the woods and braky glens.

Consuming fire brent his shearing house or stall.

Saffron confected in Cilicia.

As when your little ones Do 'twixt their fingers flip their cherry stones.

Flushing from one spray unto another.

Pan through the pastures oftentimes hath run To pluck the speckled foxgloves from their stem.

See how the frightful herds run from the wood.

Breaking our inclosures every morn.

And my near kith for that will sore me shend.

The inside lined with rich carnation silk.

But for I am so young, I dread my work Wot be misvalued both of old and young.

Whether the birds or she recorded best.

The scentful osprey by the rock had fished.

Patient anglers, standing all the day Near to some shallow stickle or deep bay.

Not far beneath i' the valley as she trends Her silver stream.

Where tufty daisies nod at every gale.

When naught was heard but now and then the howl Of some vile cur, or whooping of the owl.