War poems
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Satyr VI. The Spleen
© Thomas Parnell
Give ore my wanton fancy now give ore
the clouds are gath'ring & anon they'le powr
the pleasures of my groves are fled away
the sacred silence & ye shiny day
what have you then to lull you in your play
The Christmas Of 1888
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Low in the east, against a white, cold dawn,
The black-lined silhouette of the woods was drawn,
And on a wintry waste
Of frosted streams and hillsides bare and brown,
Through thin cloud-films, a pallid ghost looked down,
The waning moon half-faced!
The Laird Of Waristoun
© Andrew Lang
Down by yon garden green,
Sae merrily as she gaes;
She has twa weel-made feet,
And she trips upon her taes.
Slender's Ghost
© William Shenstone
Beneath a churchyard yew,
Decay'd and worn with age,
At dusk of eve methought I spied
Poor Slender's Ghost, that whimpering cried,
"O sweet! O sweet Anne Page!"
Memorials On The Slain At Chickamauga
© Herman Melville
Happy are they and charmed in life
Who through long wars arrive unscarred
Lament Of A Mocking-Bird
© Frances Anne Kemble
Silence instead of thy sweet song, my bird,
Which through the darkness of my winter days
Warbling of summer sunshine still was heard;
Mute is thy song, and vacant is thy place.
King Volmer and Elsie
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Where, over heathen doom-rings and gray stones of the Horg,
In its little Christian city stands the church of Vordingborg,
In merry mood King Volmer sat, forgetful of his power,
As idle as the Goose of Gold that brooded on his tower.
"America Will Not Turn Back" --Woodrow Wilson
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
America will not turn back;
She did not idly start,
But weighed full carefully and well
Her grave, important part.
She chose the part of Freedom's friend,
And will pursue it, to the end.
Ryton Firs
© Lascelles Abercrombie
All round the knoll, on days of quietest air,
Secrets are being told; and if the trees
Speak out let them make uproar loud as drums
'Tis secrets still, shouted instead of whisper'd.
Poulain The Prisoner
© Augusta Davies Webster
One single ray: and where its light could fall
His rusty nail carved saints and angels there,
And warriors, and slim girls with braided hair,
And blossomy boughs, and birds athwart the air.
Rude work, but yet a world. And light for all
Was one slant ray upon a prison wall.
Don Juan: Canto The Fourteenth
© George Gordon Byron
If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
The Visionary Boy
© William Lisle Bowles
Oh! lend that lute, sweet Archimage, to me!
Enough of care and heaviness
Journalism in Cactus Center
© Arthur Chapman
Down here in Cactus Center we ain't much on splittin' hairs;
In the fancy shades of language we are puttin' on no airs,
But Listen, I Am Warning You
© Anna Akhmatova
But listen, I am warning you
I'm living for the very last time.
