War poems

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Excerpt from Heer Waris Shah

© Waris Shah

Ishq kita su jag da mool mian
Pehlan aap hi rabb ne ishq kita
Te mashooq he nabi rasool mian

'Bound for the Lord-Knows-Where'

© Henry Lawson

'Where are you going with your horse and bike,

And the townsfolk still at rest?

Bluebeard

© Harry Graham

Yes, I am Bluebeard, and my name
Is one that children cannot stand;
Yet once I used to be so tame
I'd eat out of a person's hand;
So gentle was I wont to be
A Curate might have played with me.

Long since that white-haired ancient slept--but still,
When the red flower-buds crowd the orchard bough,
And the ruffed grouse is drumming far within
The woods, his venerable form again
Is at my side, his voice is in my ear.

Corned Beef and Cabbage by George Bilgere: American Life in Poetry #205 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laurea

© Ted Kooser

Memories have a way of attaching themselves to objects, to details, to physical tasks, and here, George Bilgere, an Ohio poet, happens upon mixed feelings about his mother while slicing a head of cabbage.

Corned Beef and Cabbage

The Missionary - Canto First

© William Lisle Bowles

Three hundred brandished spears shone to the sky:
We perish, or we leave our country free;
Father, our blood for Chili and for thee!
The mountain-chief essayed his club to wield,
And shook the dust indignant from the shield.
Then spoke:--

Dedication

© Charles Churchill

To Churchill's Sermons.

The manuscript of this unfinished poem was found among the few papers

Ah, Bleak And Barren Was The Moor

© William Makepeace Thackeray

Ah! bleak and barren was the moor,

Ah! loud and piercing was the storm,

On Finding A Fan

© George Gordon Byron

In one who felt as once he felt
This might, perhaps, have fann'd the flame;
But now his heart no more will melt,
Because that heart is not the same.

To any army wife

© Sappho

Some say a cavalry corps,
some infantry, some again,
will maintain that the swift oars

Thanksgiving To God, For His House

© Robert Herrick

Lord, thou hast given me a cell,

Wherein to dwell;

On Himself

© Walter Savage Landor

I STROVE with none, for none was worth my strife;
Nature I lovd, and next to Nature, Art;
I warmd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

The Punishment Of Loke

© Madison Julius Cawein

The gods of Asaheim, incensed with Loke,
A whirlwind yoked with thunder-footed steeds,
And, carried thus, boomed o'er the booming seas,
Far as the teeming wastes of Jotunheim,
To punish Loke for all his wily crimes.

In The Grass.

'Tis as if I saw it all sat now in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat now in the grasses so saw, but said never a word.
The two of them in the wood, below me there by the rill;

Music:To A Boy Of Four Years Old, On Hearing Him Play The Harp

SWEET boy! before thy lips can learn
In speech thy wishes to make known,
Are "thoughts that breathe and words that burn"
Heard in thy music's tone.

The Camp Fire

When night hung low and dew fell damp,

There fell athwart the shadows

To the Unknown Warrior

You whom the kings saluted; who refused not
The one great pleasure of ignoble days,
Fame without name and glory without gossip,
Whom no biographer befouls with praise.