War poems
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Is It Well?
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Saw you the youth, with the face like the morning,
Refilling the glass, that foamed white as the sea?
Sonnet XII "What Gossamer Lures Thee Now? What Hope, What Name"
© Henry Timrod
What gossamer lures thee now? What hope, what name
Is on thy lips? What dreams to fruit have grown?
The Journey Of Life
© William Cullen Bryant
Beneath the waning moon I walk at night,
And muse on human life--for all around
Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight,
And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground,
And broken gleams of brightness, here and there,
Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air.
The Imprisoned Innocents
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
ONE morning I said to my wife,
Near the time when the heavens are rife
With the Equinoctial strife,
"Arabella, the weather looks ugly as sin!
Ode On Lord Hay's BirthDay
© James Beattie
A Muse, unskill'd in venal praise,
Unstain'd with flattery's art;
Who loves simplicity of lays
Breathed ardent from the heart;
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Interlude I.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"O Edrehi, forbear to-night
Your ghostly legends of affright,
And let the Talmud rest in peace;
Spare us your dismal tales of death
That almost take away one's breath;
So doing, may your tribe increase."
The Passing Of Cadieux
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
'Fresh is love in May
When the Spring is yearning,
Life is but a lay,
Love is quick in learning.
The Dying Dragoman
© Mathilde Blind
Again the ring of swinging chimes
Calls all the pious folk to church,
With shining Sunday face, betimes,
Through rustling woods of beech and birch
Retrospection
© William Lisle Bowles
I turn these leaves with thronging thoughts, and say,
Alas! how many friends of youth are dead;
To R A A
© Katharine Tynan
Was it not a great end?
Wrote your Philip, with a story
Of a great deed, a great death--
Not foreseeing his own glory
And his budding laurel-wreath--
In the last words he should send.
Seven Laments For The War-Dead
© Yehuda Amichai
1
Mr. Beringer, whose son
fell at the Canal that strangers dug
so ships could cross the desert,
crosses my path at Jaffa Gate.
To John Forbes, Esq.
© Helen Maria Williams
ON HIS BRINGING ME FLOWERS FROM VAUCLUSE, AND
WHICH HE HAD PRESERVED BY MEANS OF
AN INGENIOUS PROCESS IN THEIR
ORIGINAL BEAUTY.
Lament of the Frontier Guard (Translated by Ezra Pound)
© Li Po
By the North Gate, the wind blows full of sand,
Freedom
© Archibald Lampman
Out of the heart of the city begotten
Of the labour of men and their manifold hands,
Whose souls, that were sprung from the earth in her morning,
No longer regard or remember her warning,
Whose hearts in the furnace of care have forgotten
Forever the scent and the hue of her lands;
Excelsior
© Francis Bret Harte
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Eastern village passed
A youth who bore, through dust and heat,
A stencil-plate, that read complete--"SAPOLIO."
Oh say not that my heart is cold
© Charles Wolfe
Oh say not that my heart is cold
To aught that once could warm it -
The Drowned Alive
© Charles Harpur
But what are these down in its bed
That trail so long and look so red,
Moving as in conscious sport?
Are they weeds of curious sort?
But Ill drive to them and see
Into all their mystery.
Airlin's Fine Braes
© Robert Burns
O I've walked o'er yon countries baith early and late
Among Airlin's braw lasses I've had mony a lang seat.
Comin' hame in the mornins, fin I should have been at ease
Fin I wis a plooboy on Airlin's fine braes.
