War poems
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An Account Of The Greatest English Poets
© Joseph Addison
Blest Man! whose spotless Life and Charming Lays
Employ'd the Tuneful Prelate in thy Praise:
Blest Man! who now shall be for ever known
In Sprat's successful Labours and thy own.
The Warning.
© Adelaide Crapsey
JUST now,
Out of the strange
Still dusk . . . as strange, as still . . .
A white moth flew . . . Why am I grown
So cold?
By occasion of the Young Prince his happy birth
© Henry King
At this glad Triumph, when most Poets use
Their quill, I did not bridle up my Muse
For sloth or less devotion. I am one
That can well keep my Holy-dayes at home;
Absence
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
GOODNIGHT, my love, for I have dreamed of thee,
In walking dreams, until my soul is lost
The Return
© Edith Nesbit
Then I beat on the window, and called, and cried.
No one heard me, and none replied.
The golden silence lay warm and deep,
And I wept as the dead, forgotten, weep;
And there was no one to hear or see -
To comfort me, to have pity on me.
Portrait Of A Baby
© Stephen Vincent Benet
He lay within a warm, soft world
Of motion. Colors bloomed and fled,
The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo
© Rudyard Kipling
This is the mouth-filling song of the race that was run by a Boomer.
Run in a single burst-only event of its kind-
Started by Big God Nqong from Warrigaborrigarooma,
Old Man Kangaroo first, Yellow-Dog Dingo behind.
Storm-Fragments
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THE storm had raved its furious soul away;
O'er its wild ruins Twilight, spectral, gray,
Stole like a nun, 'midst wounded men and slain,
Walking the bounds of some fierce battle-plain.
Republic And Motherland
© Alfred Noyes
Up the vast harbor with the morning sun
The ship swept in from sea;
Gigantic towers arose, the night was done,
And--there stood Liberty.
Written in Milton's PARADISE LOST.
© Mather Byles
Had I, O had I all the tuneful Arts
Of lofty Verse; did ev'ry Muse inspire
The Shepherd's Week : Friday; or, The Dirge
© John Gay
Grubbinol.
Ah Bumkinet! since thou from hence wert gone,
From these sad plains all merriment is flown;
Should I reveal my grief 'twould spoil thy cheer,
And make thine eye o'erflow with many a tear.
Panthea
© Oscar Wilde
. NAY, let us walk from fire unto fire,
From passionate pain to deadlier delight,-
I am too young to live without desire,
Too young art thou to waste this summer night
Asking those idle questions which of old
Man sought of seer and oracle, and no reply was told.
The Old Manor House
© Ada Cambridge
An old house, crumbling half away, all barnacled and lichen-grown,
Of saddest, mellowest, softest grey,-with a grand history of its own-
Grand with the work and strife and tears of more than half a thousand years.
Elegy Written At Hotwells, Bristol
© William Lisle Bowles
The morning wakes in shadowy mantle gray,
The darksome woods their glimmering skirts unfold,
Prone from the cliff the falcon wheels her way,
And long and loud the bell's slow chime is tolled.
Serenade
© William Makepeace Thackeray
Now the toils of day are over,
And the sun hath sunk to rest,
Seeking, like a fiery lover,
The bosom of the blushing west
At The Birth Of An Age
© Robinson Jeffers
V
GUDRUN (standing this side of the closing curtains; 'with Chrysothemis.
Carling has left her, going
The Wind Of Summer
© Madison Julius Cawein
From the hills and far away
All the long, warm summer day
Comes the wind and seems to say:
MacDonalds Raid.A.D. 1780.
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
I REMEMBER it well; 'twas a morn dull and gray,
And the legion lay idle and listless that day,
A thin drizzle of rain piercing chill to the soul,
And with not a spare bumper to brighten the bowl,
"One, Two, Three!"
© Henry Cuyler Bunner
It was an old, old, old, old lady,
And a boy that was half-past three;
And the way that they played together
Was beautiful to see.
