War poems
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Miss Blanche Says
© Francis Bret Harte
And you are the poet, and so you want
Something--what is it?--a theme, a fancy?
Big Words
© Robert Graves
I've whined of coming death, but now, no more!
It's weak and most ungracious. For, say I,
Ode to Women
© John Logan
Ye virgins! fond to be admired,
With mighty rage of conquest fired,
And universal sway;
Who heave th' uncover'd bosom high,
And roll a fond, inviting eye,
On all the circle gay!
The Things They Musn't Touch
© Edgar Albert Guest
Been down to the art museum an' looked at a thousand things,
The bodies of ancient mummies an' the treasures of ancient kings,
OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII (Entire)
© Alfred Tennyson
Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why,
He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.
Sonnet. The Day Is Gone
© John Keats
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,
Warm breath, light whisper, tender semitone,
Bright eyes, accomplished shape, and lang'rous waist!
The Mothers Secret
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
But Mary, faithful to its lightest word,
Kept in her heart the sayings she had heard,
Till the dread morning rent the Temple's veil,
And shuddering earth confirmed the wondrous tale.
Builders Of Ruins
© Alice Meynell
We build with strength and deep tower wall
That shall be shattered thus and thus.
And fair and great are court and hall,
But how fair-this is not for us,
Who know the lack that lurks in all.
Aghadoe
© John Todhunter
There's a glade in Aghadoe, Aghadoe, Aghadoe,
There 's a green and silent glade in Aghadoe,
Where we met, my love and I, Love's fair planet in the sky,
O'er that sweet and silent glade in Aghadoe.
Homily
© Allen Tate
If your tired unspeaking head
Rivet the dark with linear sight,
Crazed by a warlock with his curse
Dreamed up in some loquacious bed,
And if the stage-dark head rehearse
The fifth act of the closing night,
'Ware Wire!
© Jessie Pope
WHEN the beagles are running like steam,
When the plough is as sticky as glue,
Autumn Even-Song
© George Meredith
The long cloud edged with streaming grey
Soars from the West;
The red leaf mounts with it away,
Showing the nest
A blot among the branches bare:
There is a cry of outcasts in the air.
The Legend of La Brea
© Charles Kingsley
Down beside the loathly Pitch Lake,
In the stately Morichal,
Sat an ancient Spanish Indian,
Peering through the columns tall.
Footlight Motifs
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Time was, when first that voice I heard,
Despite my close and tense endeavour,
When many an important word
Was lost and gone forever;
Though, unlike others at the play,
I never whispered: "wha'd'd she say?"
Ad Astra
© George Essex Evans
Cleaving the blue abysmal without sound,
Pressed on my soul I felt the awful seals
Of that vast Cosmos without depth or bound,
Blazing with golden wheels.
A Backward Look
© James Whitcomb Riley
As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday,
And lazily leaning back in my chair,
