War poems
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The Year-King
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
It is the last of all the days,
The day on which the Old Year dies.
Ah! yes, the fated hour is near;
I see upon his snow-white bier
Outstretched the weary wanderer lies,
And mark his dying gaze.
Grandmother's Story Of Bunker Hill Battle (as she saw it from the Belfry)
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
'Tis like stirring living embers when, at eighty, one remembers
All the achings and the quakings of "the times that tried men's souls";
When I talk of Whig and Tory, when I tell the Rebel story,
To you the words are ashes, but to me they're burning coals.
Summer in the South
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
The Oriole sings in the greening grove
As if he were half-way waiting,
My Friend
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
MY Friend wears a cheerful smile of his own,
And a musical tongue has he;
We sit and look in each other's face,
And are very good company.
Giovanni Malatesta At Rimini
© Arthur Symons
Giovanni Malatesta, the lame old man,
Walking one night, as he was used, being old,
An Epistle To A Friend
© Samuel Rogers
When, with a Reaumur's skill, thy curious mind
Has class'd the insect-tribes of human-kind,
Each with its busy hum, or gilded wing,
Its subtle, web-work, or its venom'd sting;
The Wreck Of The Julie Plante
© William Henry Drummond
On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre,
De win' she blow, blow, blow,
An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante"
Got scar't an' run below
The Maid-Martyr
© Jean Ingelow
Her face, O! it was wonderful to me,
There was not in it what I look'd for-no,
I never saw a maid go to her death,
How should I dream that face and the dumb soul?
Out of Sorts
© William Schwenck Gilbert
When you find you're a broken-down critter,
Who is all of a trimmle and twitter,
Love: An Elegy
© Mark Akenside
At last the visionary scenes decay,
My eyes, exulting, bless the new-born day,
Whose faithful beams detect the dangerous road
In which my heedless feet securely trod,
And strip the phantoms of their lying charms
That lur'd my soul from Wisdom's peaceful arms.
Star-Talk
© Robert Graves
'Are you awake, Gemelli,
This frosty night?'
'We'll be awake till reveillé,
Which is Sunrise,' say the Gemelli,
Prelude To A Volume Printed In Raised Letters For The Blind
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
DEAR friends, left darkling in the long eclipse
That veils the noonday,--you whose finger-tips
Alfred. Book V.
© Henry James Pye
As o'er the tented field the squadrons spread,
Stretch'd on the turf the hardy soldier's bed;
While the strong mound, and warder's careful eyes,
Protect the midnight camp from quick surprise,
A voice, in hollow murmurs from the plain,
Attracts the notice of the wakeful train.
Dulce Domum,
© Helen Maria Williams
AN OLD LATIN ODE.
SUNG ANNUALLY BY THE WlNCHESTER BOYS UPON
LEAVING COLLEGE AT THE VACATION. [Translated at the Request of DR. JOSEPH WARTON.]
Book Fourteenth [conclusion]
© William Wordsworth
In one of those excursions (may they ne'er
Fade from remembrance!) through the Northern tracts
An Essay on Death and a Prison
© Henry King
A prison is in all things like a grave,
Where we no better priviledges have
Then dead men, nor so good. The soul once fled
Lives freer now, then when she was cloystered
Trivia ; or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London : Book II.
© John Gay
Of Walking the Streets by Day.
Thus far the Muse has trac'd in useful lays
