War poems
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To The River Arve
© William Cullen Bryant
Not from the sands or cloven rocks,
Thou rapid Arve! thy waters flow;
The Apple Tree
© Edgar Albert Guest
When an apple tree is ready
for the world to come and eat,
There isn't any structure
in the land that's "got it beat."
On Mr. Howard's Account Of Lazarettos
© William Lisle Bowles
Mortal! who, armed with holy fortitude,
The path of good right onward hast pursued;
A salutation of his Majesties Ship the Soveraign
© Henry King
Move on thou floating Trophee built to fame!
And bid her trump spread thy Majestick name;
That the blew Tritons, and those petty Gods
Which sport themselves upon the dancing floods,
Fand, A Feerie Act II
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
In the land of the living are kingdoms twain,
Kingdoms twain,--nay, kingdoms three;
One is of sunshine and one of rain,
And one of the moonlight without a stain.
The moonlight people, of these are we,
The ever--happy, the Sidhe, the Sidhe.
Natural Magic.
© Robert Crawford
I have put by the schoolmen,
The seeming great and sage;
Nor will I taste the vintage
Brewed in the vats of Age;
The Fire
© Edith Nesbit
I was picking raspberries, my head was in the canes,
And he came behind and kissed me, and I smacked him for his pains.
St. Matthias' Day
© John Keble
Who is God's chosen priest?
He, who on Christ stands waiting day and night,
Who traceth His holy steps, nor ever ceased,
From Jordan banks to Bethphage height:
Lines Written Under The Conviction That It Is Not Wise To Read Mathematics In November After Ones F
© James Clerk Maxwell
In the sad November time,
When the leaf has left the lime,
So Long, Chinook!
© Henry Herbert Knibbs
Chinook, you're free: there's plenty pasture there:
Your gallant years have earned you more ... and
yet ..
Go on and graze! Don't stand like that and stare!
Now quit your nosing! No, I'll not forget.
Accolon Of Gaul: Part IV
© Madison Julius Cawein
Hate, born of Wrath and mother red of Crime,
In Hell was whelped ere the hot hands of time,
With Deaths' Prophetic Ear
© Frank Dalby Davison
Lay my rifle here beside me, set my Bible on my breast,
For a moment let the warning bugles cease;
July
© Madison Julius Cawein
Now 'tis the time when, tall,
The long blue torches of the bellflower gleam
Among the trees; and, by the wooded stream.
In many a fragrant ball.
Blooms of the button-bush fall.
The Fallen Leaves
© Caroline Norton
I.
WE stand among the fallen leaves,
Young children at our play,
And laugh to see the yellow things
The Unhappy Lot Of Mr. Knott
© James Russell Lowell
My worthy friend, A. Gordon Knott,
From business snug withdrawn,
Was much contented with a lot
That would contain a Tudor cot
'Twixt twelve feet square of garden-plot,
And twelve feet more of lawn.
Lyonnesse
© Sylvia Plath
No use whistling for Lyonnesse!
Sea-cold, sea-cold it certainly is.
Take a look at the white, high berg on his forehead-
The Sun Has Set
© Emily Jane Brontë
The sun has set, and the long grass now
Waves dreamily in the evening wind;
And the wild bird has flown from that old gray stone
In some warm nook a couch to find.
