War poems

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Martha

© Robert Laurence Binyon

A woman sat, with roses red
Upon her lap before her spread,
On that high bridge whose parapet
Wide over turbulent Thames is set,

Wasteland Of Solitude

© Faiz Ahmed Faiz

In the wasteland of solitude, my love, quiver
shadows of your voice, illusions of your lips.
In the wasteland of solitude, from the dusts of parting
Sprout jasmines and roses of your presence

The Cup Of Joy

© Madison Julius Cawein

Let us mix a cup of Joy
That the wretched may employ,
Whom the Fates have made their toy.

So Qing, King Nqsha's Bushman hunter, spoke,
Beside the camp-fire, by the fountain fair,
When all were weary, and soft clouds of smoke
Were fading, fragrant, in the twilit air:
And suddenly in each man's heart there woke
A pang, a sacred memory of prayer.

Expostulation

© William Cowper

Why weeps the muse for England? What appears

In England's case to move the muse to tears?

Wash Lowry's Reminiscence

© James Whitcomb Riley

And you're the poet of this concern?

I've seed your name in print

Hermann And Dorothea - VIII. Melpomene

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

But she conceal'd the pain which she felt, and jestingly spoke thus
"It betokens misfortune,--so scrupulous people inform us,--
For the foot to give way on entering a house, near the threshold.
I should have wish'd, in truth, for a sign of some happier omen!
Let us tarry a little, for fear your parents should blame you
For their limping servant, and you should be thought a bad landlord."

Modern Greece

© Richard Monckton Milnes

As, in the legend which our childhood loved,
The destined prince was guided to the bed,
Where, many a silent year, the charmèd Maid
Lay still, as though she were not; nor could wake,

Virgils Gnat

© Edmund Spenser

And whatsoeuer other flowre of worth,
And whatso other hearb of louely hew
The iouyous Spring out of the ground brings forth,
To cloath her selfe in colours fresh and new;
He planted there, and reard a mount of earth,
In whose high front was writ as doth ensue.

Tired

© Augusta Davies Webster

No not to-night, dear child; I cannot go;
I'm busy, tired; they knew I should not come;
you do not need me there. Dear, be content,
and take your pleasure; you shall tell me of it.
There, go to don your miracles of gauze,
and come and show yourself a great pink cloud.

The Coming Of Te Rauparaha.

© Arthur Henry Adams

BLUE, the wreaths of smoke, like drooping banners
From the flaming battlements of sunset
Hung suspended; and within his whare
Hipe, last of Ngatiraukawa's chieftains,

The Borough. Letter XIX: The Parish-Clerk

WITH our late Vicar, and his age the same,
His clerk, hight Jachin, to his office came;
The like slow speech was his, the like tall slender

'The Age Demanded'

© Ezra Pound

For or this agility chance found
Him of all men, unfit
As the red-beaked steeds of
The Cythersean for a chain bit.

On Queen Anne's Peace, Anno 1713

Mother of plenty, daughter of the skies,
Sweet Peace, the troubl'd world's desire, arise;
Around thy poet weave thy summer shades,
Within my fancy spread thy flow'ry meads,
Amongst thy train soft ease and pleasure bring,
And thus indulgent sooth me whilst I sing.

Give Your Heart To The Hawks

I

The apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

The 'Sad Ditty' Born Of The Story Of Isabella

© John Payne

I planted it with majoram about,
When May was blithe and new;
Yea, thrice I watered it, week in, week out,
And watched how well it grew:
But now, for sure, away from me 'tis ta'en.