War poems
/ page 175 of 504 /
Percy Bysshe Shelley
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
'Twixt those twin worlds,the world of Sleep, which gave
No dream to warn,the tidal world of Death,
Morton
© James Whitcomb Riley
The warm pulse of the nation has grown chill;
The muffled heart of Freedom, like a knell,
Throbs solemnly for one whose earthly will
Wrought every mission well.
The Lady Of La Garaye - Dedication
© Caroline Norton
FRIEND of old days, of suffering, storm, and strife,
Patient and kind through many a wild appeal;
In the arena of thy brilliant life
Never too busy or too cold to feel:
The Bagman's Dog: Mr. Peters's Story
© Richard Harris Barham
It was a litter, a litter of five,
Four are drown'd and one left alive,
He was thought worthy alone to survive;
And the Bagman resolved upon bringing him up,
To eat of his bread, and to drink of his cup,
He was such a dear little cock-tail'd pup.
Madeleine Vercheres
© William Henry Drummond
I've told you many a tale, my child, of the
old heroic days
Sleeping on a Night of Autumn Rain
© Bai Juyi
It's cold this night in autumn's third month,
Peacefully within, a lone old man.
The Reprieve
© Caroline Norton
"Oh! hear me, thou, who in the sunshine's glare
So calmly waitest till the warning bell
Shall of the closing hour of his despair
In gloomy notes of muffled triumph tell.
Joseph Warren, M. D.
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
TRAINED in the holy art whose lifted shield
Wards off the darts a never-slumbering foe,
Estranged
© James Benjamin Kenyon
THEY met, and all the world was fair;
Fair, too, were they as any pair
Of birds of paradise;
They met, and never meant to part,
But oh! time chills the warmest heart,
And dims the brightest eyes.
Herba Santa
© Herman Melville
III
To scythe, to sceptre, pen and hod--
Yea, sodden laborers dumb;
To brains overplied, to feet that plod,
In solace of the _Truce of God_
The Calumet has come!
A Ballad Of Fair Ladies In Revolt
© George Meredith
See the sweet women, friend, that lean beneath
The ever-falling fountain of green leaves
Round the white bending stem, and like a wreath
Of our most blushful flower shine trembling through,
To teach philosophers the thirst of thieves:
Is one for me? is one for you?
There Is A Spell In Autumn
© Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
There is a spell in autumn early,
One all too brief, of an enchantment rare:
The nights are radiant and pearly,
The days, pellucid, crystal-clear.
St. Martin's Summer
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Though flowers have perished at the touch
Of Frost, the early comer,
I hail the season loved so much,
The good St. Martin's summer.
Hermann And Dorothea - VII. Erato
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Joyfully heard the youth the willing maiden's decision,
Doubting whether he now had not better tell her the whole truth;
But it appear'd to him best to let her remain in her error,
First to take her home, and then for her love to entreat her.
Ah! but now he espied a golden ring on her finger,
And so let her speak, while he attentively listen'd:--
The Philanthropic Society
© William Lisle Bowles
INSCRIBED TO THE DUKE OF LEEDS.
When Want, with wasted mien and haggard eye,
The Farmer's Boy - Autumn
© Robert Bloomfield
Again, the year's _decline_, midst storms and floods,
The thund'ring chase, the yellow fading woods,
Invite my song; that fain would boldly tell
Of upland coverts, and the echoing dell,
By turns resounding loud, at eve and morn
The swineherd's halloo, or the huntsman's horn.
William and Helen
© Sir Walter Scott
I.
From heavy dreams fair Helen rose,
And eyed the dawning red:
"Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!
O art thou false or dead?"-
Liberated Lady 1999
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Shes a liberated lady and shes lookin out for herself.
And she dont need your protection,
And she does not want your help.
And if youre lookin for some pretty flower,
You better go look somewhere else,
Cause I warn you, shes a liberated lady.
The Winged Mariners
© Ada Cambridge
Through the wild night, the silence and the dark,
Through league on league of the uncharted sky,
Lonelier than dove of fable from its ark,
The fieldfares fly.
Metamorphoses: Book The Seventh
© Ovid
The End of the Seventh Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
