War poems
/ page 361 of 504 /
The Art Of War. Book I.
© Henry James Pye
I'll paint the cruel arm from Bayonne nam'd,
Where savage art a new destruction fram'd,
Their powers combin'd where fire and steel impart,
And point a double wound at every heart.
In Reference to Her Children
© Anne Bradstreet
I had eight birds hatched in one nest,
Four cocks there were, and hens the rest.
I nursed them up with pain and care,
Nor cost, nor labour did I spare,
In Honour of that High and Mighty Princess, Queen ELIZABETH
© Anne Bradstreet
3.1 Here sleeps T H E Queen, this is the royal bed
3.2 O' th' Damask Rose, sprung from the white and red,
3.3 Whose sweet perfume fills the all-filling air,
3.4 This Rose is withered, once so lovely fair:
3.5 On neither tree did grow such Rose before,
3.6 The greater was our gain, our loss the more.
November
© John Crowe Ransom
THERE'S a patch of trees at the edge of the field,
And a brown little house that is kept so warm,
And a woman waiting by the hearth
Who still keeps most of a woman's charm.
A Letter to Her Husband
© Anne Bradstreet
Absent upon Public Employment My head, my heart, mine eyes, my life, nay more,
My joy, my magazine, of earthly store,
If two be one, as surely thou and I,
How stayest thou there, whilst I at Ipswich lie?
Contemplations
© Anne Bradstreet
1 Sometime now past in the Autumnal Tide,
2 When Ph{oe}bus wanted but one hour to bed,
3 The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,
4 Were gilded o're by his rich golden head.
A Dialogue between Old England and New
© Anne Bradstreet
New England. 1 Alas, dear Mother, fairest Queen and best,
2 With honour, wealth, and peace happy and blest,
3 What ails thee hang thy head, and cross thine arms,
4 And sit i' the dust to sigh these sad alarms?
Prologue
© Anne Bradstreet
1 To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings,
2 Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun,
3 For my mean Pen are too superior things;
4 Or how they all, or each their dates have run,
5 Let Poets and Historians set these forth.
6 My obscure lines shall not so dim their worth.
The Charm Of 5:30
© David Berman
We're within inches of the perfect distance from the sun,
the sky is blueberries and cream,
and the wind is as warm as air from a tire.
Even the headstones in the graveyard
Seem to stand up and say "Hello! My name is..."
Self-Portrait At 28
© David Berman
If squeezed for more information
I can remember old clock radios
with flipping metal numbers
and an entree called Surf and Turf.
Not To The Staring Day
© William Ernest Henley
Not to the staring Day,
For all the importunate questionings he pursues
Chorus From Oedipus At Colonos
© Anthony Evan Hecht
What is unwisdom but the lusting after
Longevity: to be old and full of days!
For the vast and unremitting tide of years
Casts up to view more sorrowful things than joyful;
A Hill
© Anthony Evan Hecht
In Italy, where this sort of thing can occur,
I had a vision once - though you understand
It was nothing at all like Dante's, or the visions of saints,
And perhaps not a vision at all. I was with some friends,
A Letter
© Anthony Evan Hecht
I have been wondering
What you are thinking about, and by now suppose
It is certainly not me.
But the crocus is up, and the lark, and the blundering
Blood knows what it knows.
It talks to itself all night, like a sliding moonlit sea.
Decaying Lambskins
© Robinson Jeffers
After all, we also stand on a height. Our blood and our culture
have passed the flood-marks of any world
Address to Emperor Frederic II.
© Walther von der Vogelweide
Fain (could it be) would I a home obtain,
And warm me by a hearth-side of my own.
May.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
LIGHT and silv'ry cloudlets hoverIn the air, as yet scarce warm;
Mild, with glimmer soft tinged over,Peeps the sun through fragrant balm.
Gently rolls and heaves the oceanAs its waves the bank o'erflow.
And with ever restless motionMoves the verdure to and fro,Mirror'd brightly far below.What is now the foliage moving?Air is still, and hush'd the breeze,
The Wrangler.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
ONE day a shameless and impudent wight
Went into a shop full of steel wares bright,
Arranged with art upon ev'ry shelf.
He fancied they were all meant for himself;
