War poems
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What The Shutter Said As She Lay By The Fire
© Padraic Colum
I'd never grudge them the weight of their lands
If I had only the good red gold
To huggle between my breast and my hands!
Birthday Of Daniel Webster
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
WHEN life hath run its largest round
Of toil and triumph, joy and woe,
How brief a storied page is found
To compass all its outward show!
Connecticut
© Fitz-Greene Halleck
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
That crouches at their feet, a conquered wave;
'Tis a rough land of earth, and stone, and tree,
Where breathes no castled lord or cabined slave;
A Fairy Tale In The Ancient English Style
© Thomas Parnell
In Britain's Isle and Arthur's days,
When Midnight Faeries daunc'd the Maze,
Pastorals
© George Meredith
How sweet on sunny afternoons,
For those who journey light and well,
To loiter up a hilly rise
Which hides the prospect far beyond,
And fancy all the landscape lying
Beautiful and still;
The True Born Englishman (excerpt)
© Daniel Defoe
Which medly canton'd in a heptarchy,
A rhapsody of nations to supply,
Among themselves maintain'd eternal wars,
And still the ladies lov'd the conquerors.
Brothers, And A Sermon
© Jean Ingelow
“What, chorus! are you dumb? you should have cried,
‘So good comes out of evil;’” and with that,
As if all pauses it was natural
To seize for songs, his voice broke out again:
The Foolish Traveller; Or, A Good Inn Is A Bad Home
© Hannah More
There was a Prince of high degree,
As great and good as Prince could be;
Much power and wealth were in his hand,
With Lands and Lordships at command.
War
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Ambition, power, and avarice, now have hurled
Death, fate, and ruin, on a bleeding world.
See! on yon heath what countless victims lie,
Hark! what loud shrieks ascend through yonder sky;
Compensation -- English Translation
© Rabindranath Tagore
Once I had a fancy to compose an epic
But by a sudden touch of your bangles
It burst into thousand songs
As a result of that accident
That epic is lying at my feet in smithereens.
In March
© Archibald Lampman
The last seared drifts are eating fast away
With glassy tinkle into glittering laces:
Dogs lie asleep, and little children play
With tops and marbles in the sun-bare places;
And I that stroll with many a thoughtful pause
Almost forget that winter ever was.
Invocation
© Bert Leston Taylor
O Comic Spirit, hovering overhead,
With sage's brows and finely-tempered smile,
Prom whose bowed lips a silvery laugh
is sped
At pedantry, stupidity, and guile,
The Log Jam
© William Henry Drummond
Dere 'a s beeg jam up de reever, w'ere rapide is runnin' fas',
An' de log we cut las' winter is takin' it all de room;
My Thanks,
© John Greenleaf Whittier
'T is said that in the Holy Land
The angels of the place have blessed
The pilgrim's bed of desert sand,
Like Jacob's stone of rest.
