War poems
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Down In A Shaded Garden
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Down in a shaded garden
I laid upon earth my head:
The deep trees murmured, darkly fresh,
Over my bed;
Rondel
© George MacDonald
I know thy love unspeakable-
For love's sake able to send woe!
To find thine own thou lost didst go,
And wouldst for men thy blood yet spill!-
How should I know thy final will,
Godwise too good for me to know!
Ode to Autumn
© Thomas Hood
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like Silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
I Want To Die In My Own Bed
© Yehuda Amichai
The sun stood still in Gibeon. Forever so, it's willing
to illuminate those waging battle and killing.
I may not see My wife when her blood is shed,
But I want to die in My own bed.
I Don't Know If History Repeats Itself
© Yehuda Amichai
I remember that city was didvided
Not only between Jews and Arabs,
But Between me and you,
When we were there together.
Verses
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Observe this Piece, which to our Sight does bring
The fittest Posture for the Swedish King;
(Encompass'd, as we think, with Armies round,
Tho' not express'd within this narrow Bound)
To The Painter Of An Ill-drawn Picture of Cleone
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Sooner I'd praise a Cloud which Light beguiles,
Than thy rash Hand which robs this Face of Smiles;
And does that sweet and pleasing Air control,
Which to us paints the fair CLEONE's Soul.
To Ronge
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Strike home, strong-hearted man! Down to the root
Of old oppression sink the Saxon steel.
To Edward Jenkinson, Esq
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
And I be negligently told
You was too Young, and I too Old,
To have our distant Maxims hold.
The Shepherd And The Calm
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Soothing his Passions with a warb'ling Sound,
A Shepherd-Swain lay stretch'd upon the Ground;
Whilst all were mov'd, who their Attention lent,
Or with the Harmony in Chorus went,
The Poor Man's Lamb
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Where art thou Nathan? where's that Spirit now,
Giv'n to brave Vice, tho' on a Prince's Brow?
In what low Cave, or on what Desert Coast,
Now Virtue wants it, is thy Presence lost?
The Petition for an Absolute Retreat
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Give me, O indulgent Fate!
Give me yet before I die
A sweet, but absolute retreat,
'Mongst paths so lost and trees so high
The Search After Happiness. A Pastoral Drama
© Hannah More
"To rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot,
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,
To breathe th' enlivening spirit, and to fix
The generous purpose in the female breast." ~Thomson.
The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 1 - 250 (Whinfield Translation)
© Omar Khayyám
At dawn a cry through all the tavern shrilled,
"Arise, my brethren of the revelers' guild,
That I may fill our measure full of wine,
Or e'er the measure of our days be filled."
The King and the Shepherd
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
As cou'd be prov'd, but that our plainer Task
Do's no such Toil, or Definitions ask;
But to be so rehears'd, as first 'twas told,
When such old Stories pleas'd in Days of old.
The Hymn
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
To the Almighty on his radiant Throne,
Let endless Hallelujas rise!
Praise Him, ye wondrous Heights to us unknown,
Praise Him, ye Heavens unreach'd by mortal Eyes,
Praise Him, in your degree, ye sublunary Skies!
The Snow
© Emile Verhaeren
Uninterruptedly falls the snow,
Like meagre, long wool-strands, scant and slow,
O'er the meagre, long plain disconsolate.
Cold with lovelessness, warm with hate.
The Critick and the Writer of Fables
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
But here, the Critick bids me check this Vein.
Fable, he crys, tho' grown th' affected Strain,
But dies, as it was born, without Regard or Pain.
Whilst of his Aim the lazy Trifler fails,
Who seeks to purchase Fame by childish Tales.
The First Black Flag
© Victor Marie Hugo
JOB. Hast thou ne'er heard men say
That, in the Black Wood, 'twixt Cologne and Spire,
