War poems

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Twilight Music

© George Meredith

Know you the low pervading breeze

That softly sings

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The Lady Visitor In The Pauper Ward

© Robert Graves

Why do you break upon this old, cool peace, 

This painted peace of ours, 

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The Comedian As The Letter C: 03 - Approaching Carolina

© Wallace Stevens

The book of moonlight is not written yet

Nor half begun, but, when it is, leave room

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The Desert

© Mathilde Blind

Uncircumscribed, unmeasured, vast,
 Eternal as the Sea;
What lacks the tidal sea thou hast-
 Profound stability.

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Discipline

© David Herbert Lawrence

It is stormy, and raindrops cling like silver bees to the pane,
The thin sycamores in the playground are swinging with flattened leaves;
The heads of the boys move dimly through a yellow gloom that stains
The class; over them all the dark net of my discipline weaves.

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The Witch's Frolic

© Richard Harris Barham

Thou mayest have read, my little boy Ned,
Though thy mother thine idlesse blames,
In Doctor Goldsmith's history book,
Of a gentleman called King James,
In quilted doublet, and great trunk breeches,
Who held in abhorrence tobacco and witches.

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The Me Within Thee Blind!

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

‘Since God is lost, then all is lost indeed.
You did not know the comfort or the need
Of God for me, who am so frail and weak.
Blown by all winds, I know not where to seek.

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The Piano (Notebook Version)

© David Herbert Lawrence

The full throated woman has chosen a winning, living song
And surely the heart that is in me must belong
To the old Sunday evenings, when darkness wandered outside
And hymns gleamed on our warm lips, as we watched mother's fingers glide

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Butterfly

© David Herbert Lawrence

Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward,
strong beyond the garden-wall!
Butterfly, why do you settle on my
shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe,
Lifting your veined wings, lifting them?
big white butterfly!

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Cynara

© Ernest Christopher Dowson

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,

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The Two Birth Nights

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

Bright glittering lights are gleaming in yonder mansion proud,
And within its walls are gathered a gemmed and jewelled crowd;
Robes of airy gauze and satin, diamonds and rubies bright,
Rich festoons of glowing flowers—truly ’tis a wondrous sight.

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Zoheyr

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Woe is me for 'Ommi 'Aufa! Woe for the tents of her
lost on thy stony plain, Durráj, on thine, Mutethéllemi!
In Rákmatéyn I found our dwelling, faint lines how desolate,
tent--markstraced like the vein--tracings blue on the wrists of her.

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The Abnormal Is Not Courage

© Jack Gilbert

The Poles rode out from Warsaw against the German
Tanks on horses. Rode knowing, in sunlight, with sabers,
A magnitude of beauty that allows me no peace.
And yet this poem would lessen that day. Question

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One Day And Another: A Lyrical Eclogue – Part I

© Madison Julius Cawein

  Herein the dearness of her is;
  The thirty perfect days of June
  Made one, in maiden loveliness
  Were not more sweet to clasp and kiss,
  With love not more in tune.

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Rain

© Jack Gilbert

Suddenly this defeat.
This rain.
The blues gone gray
And the browns gone gray

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A Terre (being the philosophy of many soldiers)

© Wilfred Owen

Sit on the bed. I'm blind, and three parts shell.
Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.
Both arms have mutinied against me,-brutes.
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats.

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A Point Of Honour

© Alfred Austin

``Tell me again; I did not hear: It was wailing so sadly. Nay,
Hush! little one, for mother wants to know what they have to say.
There! At my breast be good and still! What quiets you calms me too.
They say that the source is poisoned; still, it seems pure enough for you!

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To Beethoven

© Sidney Lanier

In o'er-strict calyx lingering,
Lay music's bud too long unblown,
Till thou, Beethoven, breathed the spring:
Then bloomed the perfect rose of tone.

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The Dying Hour

© Caroline Norton

OH! watch me; watch me still
Thro' the long night's dreary hours,
Uphold by thy firm will
Worn Nature's sinking powers!
II.

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The Symphony

© Sidney Lanier

And yet shall Love himself be heard,
Though long deferred, though long deferred:
O'er the modern waste a dove hath whirred:
Music is Love in search of a word."