War poems
/ page 319 of 504 /
On Lending a Punch-Bowl
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
This ancient silver bowl of mine, it tells of good old times,
Of joyous days and jolly nights, and merry Christmas times;
They were a free and jovial race, but honest, brave, and true,
Who dipped their ladle in the punch when this old bowl was new.
The Emigrants Address To America
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
All hail to thee, noble and generous Land!
With thy prairies boundless and wide,
Thy mountains that tower like sentinels grand,
Thy lakes and thy rivers of pride!
Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift, D.S.P.D.
© Jonathan Swift
Dear honest Ned is in the gout,
Lies rack'd with pain, and you without:
How patiently you hear him groan!
How glad the case is not your own!
Hezekiah
© Thomas Parnell
From the bleak Beach and broad expanse of sea,
To lofty Salem, Thought direct thy way;
Mount thy light chariot, move along the plains,
And end thy flight where Hezekiah reigns.
Book Ninth [Residence in France]
© William Wordsworth
EVEN as a river,--partly (it might seem)
Yielding to old remembrances, and swayed
Rhoecus
© James Russell Lowell
God sends his teachers unto every age,
To every clime, and every race of men,
The White Ship Henry I. Of England.25th November 1120
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
By none but me can the tale be told,
The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.
Kinmont Willie
© Andrew Lang
O have ye na heard o the fause Sakelde?
O have ye na heard o the keen Lord Scroop?
How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie,
On Hairibee to hang him up?
A Rhymed Lesson (Urania)
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Are angel faces, silent and serene,
Bent on the conflicts of this little scene,
Whose dream-like efforts, whose unreal strife,
Are but the preludes to a larger life?
The Introduction
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Did I, my lines intend for publick view,
How many censures, wou'd their faults persue,
San Francisco [ From The Sea]
© Francis Bret Harte
SERENE, indifferent of Fate,
Thou sittest at the Western Gate;
When Ragyng Loue With Extreme Payne
© Henry Howard
When ragyng loue with extreme payne
Most cruelly distrains my hart:
Magnificence
© John Skelton
What I say herke a worde.
Fansy.
Do away I say the deuylles torde.
Counterfet coun.
Cedars Of Lebanon At Warwick Castle
© Mathilde Blind
Borne hither when Christ's Sepulchre was won,
And planted by hoar Warwick's feudal walls,
You grew, o'ershadowing every rival stem.
When English woods don May's fresh coronals,
Say,--Mourn ye still lost Jerusalem,
Funeral trees--beloved of Lebanon?
Portrait Of Young Love
© Stephen Vincent Benet
If you were with meas you're not, of course,
I'd taste the elegant tortures of Despair
With a slow, languid, long-refining tongue;
Puzzle for days on one particular stare,
Or if you knew a word's peculiar force,
Or what you looked like when you were quite young.
The Bird
© Henry Vaughan
Hither thou com'st: the busy wind all night
Blew through thy lodging, where thy own warm wing
Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm
(For which coarse man seems much the fitter born)
Rained on thy bed
And harmless head.
