War poems

/ page 190 of 504 /

Order by :

1
. . .
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
. . .
504

Looking Forward

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

How busily those little fingers soft

That within mine own are clasped so oft

Psalm CIV. Paraphrased

© James Thomson

To praise thy Author, Soul, do not forget;
Canst thou, in gratitude, deny the debt?
Lord, thou art great, how great we cannot know;
Honour and majesty do round thee flow.

The Heroic Enthusiasts - Part The Second =First Dialogue.=

© Giordano Bruno

MAR. We know that you are not a theologian but a philosopher, and that
you treat of philosophy and not of theology.

A little while, a little while

© Emily Jane Brontë

A little while, a little while,
The weary task is put away,
And I can sing and I can smile,
Alike, while I have holiday.

The Child Of The Islands - Spring

© Caroline Norton

I.
WHAT shalt THOU know of Spring? A verdant crown
Of young boughs waving o'er thy blooming head:
White tufted Guelder-roses, showering down

On Visiting The Tomb Of Burns

© John Keats

The town, the churchyard, and the setting sun,
The clouds, the trees, the rounded hills all seem,
Though beautiful, cold- strange- as in a dream
I dreamed long ago, now new begun.

Tuesday In Whitsun-Week

© John Keble

"Lord, in Thy field I work all day,
I read, I teach, I warn, I pray,
And yet these wilful wandering sheep
Within Thy fold I cannot keep.

Mongrel Heart by David Baker: American Life in Poetry #44 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

Unlike the calculated expressions of feeling common to its human masters, there is nothing disingenuous about the way a dog praises, celebrates, frets or mourns. In this poem David Baker gives us just such an endearing mutt.
Mongrel Heart

Up the dog bounds to the window, baying
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ like a basset his doleful, tearing sounds
ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ ï¿½ from the belly, as if mourning a dead king,

A Death in the Bush

© Henry Kendall

For, ere the early settlers came and stocked
These wilds with sheep and kine, the grasses grew
So that they took the passing pilgrim in
And whelmed him, like a running sea, from sight.

The Return Of Peace

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

They could not quell the grieved and shuddering air,
That breathed about me its forlorn despair:
It almost seemed as if stern Triumph sped
To one whose hopes were dead,
And flaunting there his fortune's ruddier grace,
Smote--with a taunt--wan Misery in the face!

Illicit

© Conrad Aiken

Of what she said to me that nightno matter.

The strange thing came next day.

The Baptism

© France Preseren

(an excerpt from the epic The Baptism at The Savica)

The warring clouds have vanished from the skies;

The Sailor's Grave at Clo-oose, V.I.

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

And watch for the deep-sea liner climbing
Out of the bright West,
With a salmon-sky and her wake shining
Like a tern's breast, -

In Plaster

© Sylvia Plath

I shall never get out of this! There are two of me now:

This new absolutely white person and the old yellow one,

Before The Mirror

WHERE in her chamber by the Southern sea,
Her taper's light shone soft and silvery,
Fair as a planet mirrored in the main,
Fresh as a blossom bathed by April rain,

The Visit Of Mahmoud Ben Suleim To Paradise

Perchance the past of man--and thence to draw
From far experience, sanctified by awe
Of God's mysterious ways, some hint to tell
Who of the dead in heaven and who in hell
Dwelt now in endless bliss or endless bale.

Ode Recited At The Harvard Commemoration July 21, 1865

Weak-Winged is Song,

Nor aims at that clear-ethered height

A Wreath Of Sonnets (5/14)

They come from where no man can sunshine find -
Not from those regions by your glance caressed,
Where all the cares of this world are at rest,
And sweet oblivion follows close behind;