War poems
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Knowledge
© Louise Bogan
Now that I know
How passion warms little
Of flesh in the mould,
And treasure is brittle,--
At Her Grave
© Alfred Austin
Lo, here among the rest you sleep,
As though no difference were
'Twixt them and you, more wide, more deep,
Than such as fondness loves to keep
Round each lone sepulchre.
The Falcon
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
Who would not be Sir Hubert, for his birth and bearing fine,
His rich sky-skirted woodlands, valleys flowing oil and wine;
To James T. Fields
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Well thought! who would not rather hear
The songs to Love and Friendship sung
Than those which move the stranger's tongue,
And feed his unselected ear?
Endymion.
© Adelaide Crapsey
"Let me be young," the Latmian shepherd prayed,
"And let me have on night-time hills long sleep;"
On Nothing's New
© Sukasah Syahdan
Those who say nothing's new
under the olden sun have never laid eyes
on my wart.
Songs Of The Imprisoned Naiad
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
"WOE! woe is me! the centuries pass away,
The mortal seasons run their ceaseless rounds,
While here I wither for the sunbright day,
Its genial sights and sounds.
Woe! woe is me!
The Marriage Of Tirzah And Ahirad
© Thomas Babbington Macaulay
Round the dark curtains of the fiery throne
Pauses awhile the voice of sacred song:
From all the angelic ranks goes forth a groan,
'How long, O Lord, how long?'
The still small voice makes answer, 'Wait and see,
Oh sons of glory, what the end shall be.'
Belitung
© Sukasah Syahdan
Majestic rocks from millions of years ancient
Bystanders of earthly silent evolution
Are in themselves untold stories
Of an ever-lasting beauty that is this beach
That the hands of time would only caress
And praises from our lips would never cease
To Whom Words Are Mightier
© Sukasah Syahdan
To whom words are mightier than swords
be wary, for words may merely be as shorter
than swords as our untimely departure
Reminiscence
© Sukasah Syahdan
I am reminiscing you; and the little boy who often stole some change from the left pocket of your pants that would hang behind the door in the front room; his pride in bringing home for Mom, his three brothers and as many sisters, a plastic bagful of bananas or oranges from the money hed stolen; the one afternoon you once asked him about the vanishing money; how he could bring home oleh-oleh for the family; the childish lies and made-up stories; and the relief he felt when you did not pursue the truth hidden in his pinkish heart
Kitanomaru Park
© Sukasah Syahdan
two-three Japanese frogs
suspended their croaks
and returned the quiet
to the nearby loch
Kemang Afternoon Blues
© Sukasah Syahdan
1/
Had it not been for the traffic jam
You'd have thought being elsewhere
Most the niceties seemed so foreign
Speaking a tongue so unfamiliar
Of The Nature Of Things: Book I - Part 06 - Confutation Of Other Philosophers
© Lucretius
And on such grounds it is that those who held
The stuff of things is fire, and out of fire
The Sculptor.
© Arthur Henry Adams
O'er the Eastern hills of light
While the dim world slept
Dawn the sculptor stepped,
And the shapeless block of Night
Chiselled into form
Morning-lit and warm.
To a Friend, on the Death of a Relative.
© Mather Byles
I.
Great GOD, thy Works our Wonder raise,
To thee our swelling Notes belong;
While Skies, and Winds, and Rocks, and Seas,
Around shall echo to our Song.
The Tryst Of The Sachems Daughter
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
In the far green depths of the forest glade,
Where the hunters footsteps but rarely strayed,
Was a darksome dell, possessed, twas said,
By an evil spirit, dark and dread,
Whose weird voice spoke in the whisperings low
Of that haunted wood, and the torrents flow.
To the Author of a Poem Entitled Succession
© Alexander Pope
Begone, ye Critics, and restrain your spite,
Codrus writes on, and will for ever write,
