War poems

 / page 291 of 504 /
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Ancestor

© James Russell Lowell

It was a time when they were afraid of him.

My father, a bare man, a gypsy, a horse

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Full Moon

© Elinor Wylie

My bands of silk and miniver
Momently grew heavier;
The black gauze was beggarly thin;
The ermine muffled mouth and chin;
I could not suck the moonlight in.

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Invitation to the Voyage

© Charles Baudelaire

Imagine, ma petite,

Dear sister mine, how sweet

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Fears In Solitude. Written In April, 1798, During The Alarm Of An Invasion

© Samuel Taylor Coleridge

A green and silent spot, amid the hills,
A small and silent dell!  O'er stiller place
No singing sky-lark ever poised himself.
The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope,

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An Essay on Man: Epistle I

© Alexander Pope

To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke


Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things

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France: An Ode

© Samuel Taylor Coleridge

I


 Ye Clouds! that far above me float and pause,

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The Habitants Summer

© William Henry Drummond

O, who can blame de winter, never min'

  de hard he 's blowin'

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Pygmaeo-gerano-machia: The Battle Of The Pygmies and Cranes

© James Beattie

Nor less th' alarm that shook the world below,
Where march'd in pomp of war th' embattled foe;
Where mannikins with haughty step advance,
And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering lance;
To right and left the lengthening lines they form,
And rank'd in deep array await the storm.

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Emptiness

© Katharine Tynan

Where there is nothing God comes in:
  The Very God has room enough
In the poor heart that's stripped so clean
  Of earth and all the joys thereof.

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Vernal Ode

© William Wordsworth

I
BENEATH the concave of an April sky,
When all the fields with freshest green were dight,
Appeared, in presence of the spiritual eye

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To a Mountain Daisy

© Robert Burns

Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet,
The bonie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet
 Wi' spreck'd breast,
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet
 The purpling east.

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Modern Love

© John Keats

And what is love? It is a doll dress’d up


For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;

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From Violence to Peace

© James Russell Lowell

Twenty-eight shotgun pellets
crater my thighs, belly and groin.
I gently thumb each burnt bead,
fingering scabbed stubs with ointment.

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The Feast of Stephen

© Anthony Evan Hecht

I

The coltish horseplay of the locker room,

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The World Below The Brine

© Walt Whitman


The change onward from ours, to that of beings who walk other
  spheres.

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Ormuzd And Ahriman. Part II

© Christopher Pearse Cranch

Fear not, for ye shall live if ye receive
The life divine, obedient to the law
Of truth and good. So shall there be no frown
Upon his face who wills the good of all.

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Murray Dreaming

© Stephen Edgar

It’s not the sharks

Sliding mere inches from his upturned face

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Telephone Conversation

© Wole Soyinka


The price seemed reasonable, location

Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived

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The Intellectual

© Ishmael Reed

What should the wars do with these jigging fools?
The man behind the book may not be man,
His own man or the book’s or yet the time’s,
But still be whole, deciding what he can
In praise of politics or German rimes;