War poems
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A Winter Night
© Sara Teasdale
My window-pane is starred with frost,
The world is bitter cold to-night,
The moon is cruel, and the wind
Is like a two-edged sword to smite.
The Years Progress
© Frances Anne Kemble
I look along the dusty dreary way,
So lately strew'd with blossoms fresh and gay,
The sweet procession of the year is past,
And wither'd whirling leaves run rattling fast,
Like throngs of tatter'd beggars following
Where late went by the pageant of a king.
At Camelot.
© Robert Crawford
Her maiden eyes were redolent of love,
Warm-bosomed as she breathed the passioned air
Of old romance, and did in fancy move
'Mong the gay knights who died for ladies fair;
Sonnet X. To Mrs. G
© Charlotte Turner Smith
AH! why will Mem'ry with officious care
The long lost visions of my days renew?
Why paint the vernal landscape green and fair,
When life's gay dawn was opening to my view?
An Indian Wind Song
© Peter McArthur
THE wolf of the winter wind is swift,
And hearts are still and cheeks are pale,
Phantasmagoria Canto I (The Trystyng )
© Lewis Carroll
ONE winter night, at half-past nine,
Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy,
I had come home, too late to dine,
And supper, with cigars and wine,
Was waiting in the study.
To Virgil, Written at the Request of the Manuans for the Nineteenth Centenary of Virgil's Death
© Alfred Tennyson
Roman Virgil, thou that singest
Ilion's lofty temples robed in fire,
Ilion falling, Rome arising,
wars, and filial faith, and Dido's pyre;
Monday In Whitsun-Week
© John Keble
Since all that is not Heaven must fade,
Light be the hand of Ruin laid
Upon the home I love:
With lulling spell let soft Decay
Steal on, and spare the giant sway,
The crash of tower and grove.
Modern Love XXX
© George Meredith
What are we first? First, animals; and next
Intelligences at a leap; on whom
Five Visions of Captain Cook
© Kenneth Slessor
Two chronometers the captain had,
One by Arnold that ran like mad,
One by Kendal in a walnut case,
Poor devoted creature with a hangdog face.
My Mother-Land
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Death! What of death?--
Can he who once drew honorable breath
In liberty's pure sphere,
Foster a sensual fear,
When death and slavery meet him face to face,
Years Of The Modern
© Walt Whitman
YEARS of the modern! years of the unperform'd!
Your horizon rises-I see it parting away for more august dramas;
The House of Life: 73. The Choice, III
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Nay, come up hither. From this wave-wash'd mound
Unto the furthest flood-brim look with me;
Then reach on with thy thought till it be drown'd.
Miles and miles distant though the last line be,
And though thy soul sail leagues and leagues beyond,—
Still, leagues beyond those leagues, there is more sea.
The More a Man Has the More a Man Wants
© Paul Muldoon
At four in the morning he wakes
to the yawn of brakes,
25 Minutes To Go
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
They're buildin' the gallows outside my cell.
I got 25 minutes to go.
In The Night
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Where art thou, thou lost face,
Which, yet a little while, wert making mirth
At these new years which seemed too sad to be?
Where art thou fled which for a minute's space
The Family Fool
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Oh! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon,
If you listen to popular rumour;
Flight
© Boris Pasternak
Yesterday my wife held me here
as I thrashed and moaned, her hand
in my foaming mouth, and my son
saw what he was warned he might.
