Peace poems
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Elegy On Newstead Abbey
© George Gordon Byron
No mail-clad serfs, obedient to their lord,
In grim array the crimson cross demand;
Or gay assemble round the festive board
Their chief's retainers, an immortal band:
Eclogue
© John Donne
ALLOPHANES FINDING IDIOS IN THE COUNTRY IN
CHRISTMAS TIME, REPREHENDS HIS ABSENCE
FROM COURT, AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL
OF SOMERSET ; IDIOS GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF
HIS PURPOSE THEREIN, AND OF HIS ACTIONS
THERE.
The Red Indian
© Frances Anne Kemble
Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past,
Thy longest war-whoop, and thy last,
The Old Song
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
When I was a young lad of happy sixteen
There came to my window the Cushla-mo chree,
The Pastime of Pleasure: Of dysposycyon the II. parte of rethoryke - (til line 4920)
© Stephen Hawes
The copy of the letter. Ca. xxxi.
3951 Right gentyll herte of grene flourynge age
3952 The sterre of beaute and of famous porte
3953 Consyder well that your lusty courage
The Song Of Hiawatha XXII: Hiawatha's Departure
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O'er the water floating, flying,
Something in the hazy distance,
Something in the mists of morning,
Loomed and lifted from the water,
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying,
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer.
Elegy Of Lincoln
© Joseph Furphy
Lincoln is gone who ruled the Western Land
From the Pacific to the Atlantic's brim
And cold and nerveless lies the mighty hand
That struck the fetters from the negro's limb.
Quatrains Of Life
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?
The Verdicts [Jutland]
© Rudyard Kipling
Not in the thick of the fight,
Not in the press of the odds,
Do the heroes come to their height,
Or we know the demi-gods.
Death Of Captain Cooke,
© William Lisle Bowles
OF "THE BELLEROPHON," KILLED IN THE SAME BATTLE.
When anxious Spain, along her rocky shore,
Sonnet IV
© Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
Peace is happiness, but war is our plight
Under the heavens. He - prince of the night,
Severe captain- and the World's vanity
Work for our corruption diligently.
The Hares, A Fable.
© James Beattie
Mild was the morn, the sky serene,
The jolly hunting band convene,
The beagle's breast with ardour burns,
The bounding steed the champaign spurns,
And Fancy oft the game descries
Through the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes.
Sonnet XXV. By The Same.
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Just before his Death.
WHY should I wish to hold in this low sphere
'A frail and feverish being?' wherefore try
Poorly from day to day to linger here,
Paddy's Letter, 1857
© Anonymous
I've had all sorts of luck, sometimes bad, sometimes better,
But now I have somebody's luck and my own,
For I stooped in the street and I picked up a letter,
Which some one had written to send away home.
