War poems
/ page 369 of 504 /A Meditation On Rhode-Island Coal
© William Cullen Bryant
I sat beside the glowing grate, fresh heaped
With Newport coal, and as the flame grew bright
--The many-coloured flame--and played and leaped,
I thought of rainbows and the northern light,
Moore's Lalla Rookh, the Treasury Report,
And other brilliant matters of the sort.
The Minstrel; Or, The Progress Of Genius : Book I.
© James Beattie
I.
Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!
Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime
The Song Of Honour
© Ralph Hodgson
I heard no more of bird or bell,
The mastiff in a slumber fell,
I stared into the sky,
As wondering men have always done
Since beauty and the stars were one,
Though none so hard as I.
Winter - The Fourth Pastoral, or Daphne
© Alexander Pope
Lycidas.
Thyrsis, the music of that murm'ring spring,
Mr Bleaney
© Philip Larkin
'This was Mr Bleaney's room. He stayed
The whole time he was at the Bodies, till
They moved him.' Flowered curtains, thin and frayed,
Fall to within five inches of the sill,
The Windigo
© William Henry Drummond
Cyprien is los' hees w'issle, Cyprien is los' hees
chain
Injun Johnnie he mus' fin' it, even if de win'
is high
Preamble (A Rough Draft For An Ars Poetica)
© Jean Cocteau
The grain of rye
free from the prattle of grass
et loin de arbres orateurs
The Art of Storm-riding
© Yahia Lababidi
I could not decipher the living riddle of my body
put it to sleep when it hungered, and overfed it
when time came to dream
An Old-Year Song
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
As through the forest, disarrayed
By chill November, late I strayed,
Battery Moving Up to a New Position from Rest Camp:Dawn
© Robert Nichols
Not a sign of life we rouse
In any square close-shuttered house
That flanks the road we amble down
Toward far trenches through the town.
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 03
© William Langland
Now is Mede the mayde and no mo of hem alle,
With bedeles and baillies brought bifore the Kyng.
The Brass-Pot And Stone-Jugg
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
A brazen Pot, by scouring vext,
With Beef and Pudding still perplext,
The Song of the Ungirt Runners
© Charles Hamilton Sorley
We swing ungirded hips,
And lightened are our eyes,
The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
The Party
© Weldon Kees
The obscene hostess, mincing in the hall,
Gathers the guests around a crystal ball.
It is on the whole an exciting moment;
Mrs. Lefevre stares with her one good eye;
A friendly abdomen rubs against ones back;
Interesting, a portly man is heard to sigh.
A Letter From the Trenches to a School Friend
© Charles Hamilton Sorley
I have not brought my Odyssey
With me here across the sea;
But you'll remember, when I say
How, when they went down Sparta way,
To Germany
© Charles Hamilton Sorley
When it is peace, then we may view again
With new won eyes each other's truer form and wonder.
Grown more loving kind and warm
We'll grasp firm hands and laugh at the old pain,
When it is peace. But until peace, the storm,
The darkness and the thunder and the rain.
On The Death Of A Young Lady
© George Gordon Byron
Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom,
Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove,
Whilst I return, to view my Margaret's tomb,
And scatter flowers on the dust I love.
Sonnet LVIII: In Former Times
© Michael Drayton
In former times such as had store of coin,
In wars at home, or when for conquests bound,
For fear that some their treasure should purloin,
Gave it to keep to spirits within the ground,