War poems
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Interlude
© Dame Edith Sitwell
Mid this hot green glowing gloom
A word falls with a raindrop's boom...
Like baskets of ripe fruit in air
The bird-songs seem, suspended where
The Crusader
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Effigy mailed and mighty beneath thy mail
That liest asleep with hand upon carved sword--hilt
As ready to waken and strong to stand and hail
Death, where hosts are shaken and hot life spilt;
Magnolia Shoals
© Sylvia Plath
Up here among the gull cries
we stroll through a maze of pale
red-mottled relics, shells, claws
I know The Music (unfinished)
© Wilfred Owen
All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:
The Recordyng Of Aungeles Song Of The Natiuite Of Oure Lady.
© Thomas Hoccleve
HOnured be thu, blisseful lord benigne, That now vntó man wil be merciábleAs he may se apertly be a signe,A braunche, þat sprongen is ful profitable,fful fresch & faire, & heily commendable Of Iesse-is Rote, þat called is marie,That schal the blisseful appil fructifie.
A blisful flour, owt of this spray schal springe; The fruyt þer-of schal be ful precïous;A causë haue [we] for to ioye & synge,In honure of þat maidë gracïous,That gret comfort schal cause[n] vnto vs; ffor now schal faste oure company encrees,And god with man schal makë smallë pees.
Employment [II]
© George Herbert
He that is weary, let him sit.
My soul would stirre
And trade in courtesies and wit
Quitting the furre
To cold complexions needing it.
The Art Of War. Book III.
© Henry James Pye
Your footsteps now the arsenals have trod
Where lie the treasures of the warrior God;
Yet 'midst his ranks to serve is little fame,
Little avails the soldier's ardent flame,
Unless to all the heights of art you climb,
And reach of martial skill the true sublime.
Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead
© Alfred Tennyson
Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
She must weep or she will die.
Der philosophische Trinker
© Gotthold Ephraim Lessing
Mein Freund, der Narr vom philosophschen Orden,
Hat sich bekehrt, und ist ein Trinker worden.
The Wind-Child
© Enid Derham
MY FOLKS the wind-folk, its there I belong,
I tread the earth below them, and the earth does me wrong,
Composed By The Side Of Grasmere Lake 1806
© William Wordsworth
CLOUDS, lingering yet, extend in solid bars
Through the grey west; and lo! these waters, steeled
By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield
A vivid repetition of the stars;
Song: Oh the Tear
© Joseph Rodman Drake
Oh the tear is in my eye, and my heart it is breaking,
Thou hast fled from me, Connor, and left me forsaken;
Bright and warm was our morning, but soon has it faded,
For I gave thee a true heart, and thou hast betrayed it.
Alma; or, The Progress of the Mind. In Three Cantos. - Canto I.
© Matthew Prior
Without these aids, to be more serious,
Her power they hold had been precarious;
The eyes might have conspired her ruin,
And she not known what they were doing.
Foolish it had been and unkind
That they should see and she be blind.
The Lady Of Rathmore Hall
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Throughout the country for many a mile
There is not a nobler, statelier pile
Than ivy crowned Rathmore Hall;
And the giant oaks that shadow the wold,
Though hollowed by time, are not as old
As its Norman turrets tall.
A Welcome To Lowell
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Take our hands, James Russell Lowell,
Our hearts are all thy own;
To-day we bid thee welcome
Not for ourselves alone.
The Street-Children's Dance
© Mathilde Blind
NOW the earth in fields and hills
Stirs with pulses of the Spring,
Next-embowering hedges ring
With interminable trills;
Sunlight runs a race with rain,
All the world grows young again.
Look Seaward, Sentinel!
© Alfred Austin
I
Look seaward, Sentinel, and tell the land
What you behold.
Hildebrand And Hellelil
© William Morris
Hellelil sitteth in bower there,
None knows my grief but God alone,
And seweth at the seam so fair,
I never wail my sorrow to any other one.
On Receiving Hayley's Picture
© William Cowper
In language warm as could be breathed or penned
Thy picture speaks the original my friend,
Not by those looks that indicate thy mind,
They only speak thee friend of all mankind;
Expression here more soothing still I see,
That friend of all, a partial friend to me.
