War poems
/ page 147 of 504 /
Funeral Tree of the Sokokis
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Around Sebago's lonely lake
There lingers not a breeze to break
The mirror which its waters make.
Mighty Eagle
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Mighty eagle! thou that soarest
O'er the misty mountain forest,
And amid the light of morning
Like a cloud of glory hiest,
And when night descends defiest
The embattled tempests warning!
The Battle Of Kings Mountain
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
OFTTIMES an old man's yesterdays o'er his frail vision pass,
Dim as the twilight tints that touch a dusk-enshrouded glass;
But, ah! youth's time and manhood's prime but grow more brave, more bright,
As still the lengthening shadows steal toward the rayless night.
We Are Getting to the End
© Thomas Hardy
We are getting to the end of visioning
The impossible within this universe,
Such as that better whiles may follow worse,
And that our race may mend by reasoning.
Orpheus In Thrace
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
Dear is the newly won,
But O far dearer the for ever lost!
He that at utmost cost
The Death Of Goody Nurse
© Rose Terry Cooke
The chill New England sunshine
Lay on the kitchen floor;
The wild New England north wind
Came rattling at the door.
To My Old Schoolmaster
© John Greenleaf Whittier
AN EPISTLE NOT AFTER THE MANNER OF HORACE
Old friend, kind friend! lightly down
A Song : The Sparkling Eye
© William Cowper
The sparkling eye, the mantling cheek,
The polished front, the snowy neck,
How seldom we behold in one!
Glossy locks, and brow serene,
Venus' smiles, Diana's mien,
All meet in you, and you alone.
Spring
© Samuel Johnson
Stern Winter now, by Spring repress'd
Forbears the long-continued strife;
And Nature, on her naked breast,
Delights to catch the gales of life.
The Prophecy of Samuel Sewall
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Up and down the village streets
Strange are the forms my fancy meets,
He Loves And He Rides Away
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
'Twas in that island summer where
They spin the morning gossamer,
Auf, Auf! Die Rechte Zeit Ist Hier
© Martin Opitz
Auf, auf! Die rechte Zeit ist hier,
die Stunde wartet vor der Tür,
ihr Brüder, lasset uns erwachsen,
vergesst die Welt und ihre Sachen.
To be added
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 02
© William Langland
And is welcome whan he wile, and woneth with hem ofte.
Alle fledden for fere and flowen into hernes;
Save Mede the mayde na mo dorste abide.
Ac trewely to telle, she trembled for fere,
And ek wepte and wrong whan she was attached.
Mark Antony
© John Cleveland
Whenas the nightingale chanted her vespers,
And the wild forester couched on the ground,
Going To The Horse Flats
© Robinson Jeffers
Sweet was the clear
Chatter of the stream now that our talk was hushed; the flitting
water-ouzel returned to her stone;
A lovely snake, two delicate scarlet lines down the dark back,
swam through the pool. The flood-battered
Trees by the stream are more noble than cathedral-columns.
Grass From The Battle-Field
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Small sheaf
Of withered grass, that hast not yet revealed
Thy story, lo! I see thee once more green
And growing on the battle-field,
On that last day that ever thou didst grow!
By The Fireside : The Open Window
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The old house by the lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravelled pathway
The light and shadow played.
A Letter
© James Russell Lowell
From Mr. Hosea Biglow To The Hon. J.T. Buckingham, Editor Of The Boston Courier, Covering A Letter From Mr. B. Sawin, Private In The Massachusetts Regiment
This kind o' sogerin' aint a mite like our October trainin',
