War poems
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The Hermit Thrush
© Henry Van Dyke
O wonderful! How liquid clear
The molten gold of that ethereal tone,
The Young Rat And His Dam, The Cock And The Cat
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
I paus'd a while, to meditate a Speech,
And now was stepping just within his reach;
When that rude Clown began his hect'ring Cry,
And made me for my Life, and from th' Attempt to fly.
Indeed 'twas Time, the shiv'ring Beldam said,
To scour the Plain, and be of Life afraid.
Deer Hunt
© Judson Jerome
I flinched at every lonely rifle crack,
my knuckles whitening where I gripped the edge
of age and clung, like retching, sinking back
then gripping once again the monstrous gun,
since I, to be a man, had taken one.
Sonnet XVI. The Spectroscope.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
ALL honor to that keen Promethean soul
Who caught the prismic hues of Jove and Mars,
And from the glances of the dædal stars,
And from the fiery sun, the secret stole
First Love
© William Schwenck Gilbert
A clergyman in Berkshire dwelt,
The REVEREND BERNARD POWLES,
And in his church there weekly knelt
At least a hundred souls.
To Miss Sarah Siddons
© Frances Anne Kemble
Time beckons on the hours: the expiring year
Already feels old Winter's icy breath;
Haunted
© Robert Graves
Gulp down your wine, old friends of mine,
Roar through the darkness, stamp and sing
And lay ghost hands on everything,
But leave the noonday's warm sunshine
To living lads for mirth and wine.
The Answer
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Spare me, dread angel of reproof,
And let the sunshine weave to-day
Its gold-threads in the warp and woof
Of life so poor and gray.
The Country Clergyman's Trip To Cambridge -- An Election Ballad
© Thomas Babbington Macaulay
As I sate down to breakfast in state,
At my living of Tithing-cum-Boring,
The Bush Fire
© William Henry Ogilvie
The Sun has signed his nightly armistice,
Drawn a dark cloud across his crimson breast,
And gone to war with other lands than this,
Lowering his splendid banners from the west.
Down the world's edge the summer lightnings play,
Their broadswords flashing o'er departed day.
The Woman
© Harriet Monroe
Go sleep, my sweetierestrest!
Oh soft little hand on mother's breast!
Oh soft little lipsthe din's mos' gone-
Over and done, my dearie one!
Ode X: To Thomas Edwards, Esquire: On The Late Edition Of Mr. Pope's Work
© Mark Akenside
I.
Believe me, Edwards, to restrain
The Water-Witch
© Alice Guerin Crist
The little creek went winding down
Twixt whispering reeds and small blue flowers,
Singing a pleasant summer song
Of holidays and playtime hours.
A Song To Amoret
© Henry Vaughan
If I were dead, and, in my place,
Some fresher youth designed
To warm thee, with new fires; and grace
Those arms I left behind:
The Battle-Field
© William Cullen Bryant
Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,
And fiery hearts and armed hands
Encountered in the battle cloud.
The Nut-Brown Maid. A Poem.
© Matthew Prior
Man. I am the knyght, I come by nyght
As secret as I can,
Saying, alas! thus standeth the case,
I am a banishyd man.
