War poems
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Braid Claith
© Robert Fergusson
Ye wha are fain to hae your name
Wrote in the bonny book of fame,
Let merit nae pretension claim
To laurel'd wreath,
But hap ye weel, baith back and wame,
In gude Braid Claith.
The Pass Of The Sierra
© John Greenleaf Whittier
ALL night above their rocky bed
They saw the stars march slow;
The wild Sierra overhead,
The desert's death below.
Mabel Martin
© John Greenleaf Whittier
PROEM.
I CALL the old time back: I bring my lay
in tender memory of the summer day
When, where our native river lapsed away,
Pioneers! O Pioneers!
© Walt Whitman
COME, my tan-faced children,
Follow well in order, get your weapons ready;
Have you your pistols? have you your sharp edged axes?
Pioneers! O pioneers!
The Village: Book I
© George Crabbe
The village life, and every care that reigns
O'er youthful peasants and declining swains;
The Diplomatic Platypus
© Patrick Barrington
I had a duck-billed platypus when I was up at Trinity,
With whom I soon discovered a remarkable affinity.
mulberry fields
© Paul Celan
they thought the field was wasting
and so they gathered the marker rocks and stones and
The Last Evening
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Over sea the sun in a mystery of light
Burns across the waters, on the blown spray glancing:
Luminously crested, wave behind wave advancing
Pours its rushing foam with low continual roar.
The Boy and the Mantle
© Thomas Percy
In the third day of May,
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child,
That cold much of wisdome.
Time
© George MacDonald
A lang-backit, spilgie, fuistit auld carl
Gangs a' nicht rakin athort the warl
Tam O 'Shanter
© Robert Burns
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses.)
Market-Night
© Robert Bloomfield
'O Winds, howl not so long and loud;
Nor with your vengeance arm the snow:
Bear hence each heavy-loaded cloud;
And let the twinkling Star-beams glow.
The Fair
© Ronald Stuart Thomas
Is generated by the smooth flow
Of the shillings. This is an orchestra
Of steel with the constant percussion
Of laughter. But where he should be laughing
Too, his features are split open, and look!
Out of the cracks come warm, human tears.
From Lines to William Simson
© Robert Burns
Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain,
She's gotten poets o' her ain—
Chiels wha their chanters winna hain,
But tune their lays,
Till echoes a' resound again
Her weel-sung praise.
Haymaking
© Edward Thomas
Aftear night’s thunder far away had rolled
The fiery day had a kernel sweet of cold,
