War poems
/ page 206 of 504 /
Well! Thou Art Happy
© George Gordon Byron
Well! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Fifteenth Sunday After Trinity
© John Keble
Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies,
Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew,
Elegy On Newstead Abbey
© George Gordon Byron
No mail-clad serfs, obedient to their lord,
In grim array the crimson cross demand;
Or gay assemble round the festive board
Their chief's retainers, an immortal band:
Eclogue
© John Donne
ALLOPHANES FINDING IDIOS IN THE COUNTRY IN
CHRISTMAS TIME, REPREHENDS HIS ABSENCE
FROM COURT, AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL
OF SOMERSET ; IDIOS GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF
HIS PURPOSE THEREIN, AND OF HIS ACTIONS
THERE.
The Red Indian
© Frances Anne Kemble
Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past,
Thy longest war-whoop, and thy last,
The Pastime of Pleasure: Of dysposycyon the II. parte of rethoryke - (til line 4920)
© Stephen Hawes
The copy of the letter. Ca. xxxi.
3951 Right gentyll herte of grene flourynge age
3952 The sterre of beaute and of famous porte
3953 Consyder well that your lusty courage
The Song Of Hiawatha XXII: Hiawatha's Departure
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O'er the water floating, flying,
Something in the hazy distance,
Something in the mists of morning,
Loomed and lifted from the water,
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying,
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer.
A Letter from a Candidate for the Presidency
© James Russell Lowell
Dear Sir-You wish to know my notions
On sartin pints thet rile the land;
Son Davie! Son Davie!
© Andrew Lang
"What bluid's that on thy coat lap?
Son Davie! Son Davie!
What bluid's that on thy coat lap?
And the truth come tell to me, O."
I Stood Tip-Toe Upon A Little Hill
© John Keats
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,
The air was cooling, and so very still,
That the sweet buds which with a modest pride
Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside,
Quatrains Of Life
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?
The Ladys Lament
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Never happy any more!
Aye, turn the saying o'er and o'er,
Death Of Captain Cooke,
© William Lisle Bowles
OF "THE BELLEROPHON," KILLED IN THE SAME BATTLE.
When anxious Spain, along her rocky shore,
On Receiving A Curious Shell
© John Keats
Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem
Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain?
Bright as the humming-bird's green diadem,
When it flutters in sun-beams that shine through a fountain?
Don Quixote
© Madison Julius Cawein
On receiving a bottle of Sherry Wine of the same name
WHAT "blushing Hippocrene" is here! what fire
Of the "warm South" with magic of old Spain!
Through which again I seem to view the train
The Blessed Damozel
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
The blessed damozel leaned out
From the gold bar of Heaven;
The Hares, A Fable.
© James Beattie
Mild was the morn, the sky serene,
The jolly hunting band convene,
The beagle's breast with ardour burns,
The bounding steed the champaign spurns,
And Fancy oft the game descries
Through the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes.
The Old Farm
© Madison Julius Cawein
Dormered and verandaed, cool,
Locust-girdled, on the hill;
Stained with weather-wear, and dull-
Streak'd with lichens; every sill
Thresholding the beautiful;
