War poems

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The Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna

© Charles Wolfe

Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried;Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

The Lady in the White Dress, Whom I Helped Into the Omnibus

I know her not! Her hand has been in mine,And the warm pressure of her taper armHas thrill'd upon my fingers, and the hemOf her white dress has lain upon my feet,Till my hush'd pulse, by the caressing folds,Was kindled to a fever! I, to her,Am but the undistinguishable leafBlown by upon the breeze -- yet I have sat,And in the blue depths of her stainless eyes,(Close as a lover in his hour of bliss,And steadfastly as look the twin stars downInto unfathomable wells,) have gazed!And I have felt from out its gate of pearlHer warm breath on my cheek, and while she satDreaming away the moments, I have triedTo count the long dark lashes in the fringeOf her bewildering eyes! The kerchief sweetThat enviably visits her red lipHas slumber'd, while she held it, on my knee, --And her small foot has crept between mine own --And yet, she knows me not! Now, thanks to heavenFor blessings chainless in the rich man's keeping --Wealth that the miser cannot hide away!Buy, if they will, the invaluable flower --They cannot store its fragrance from the breeze!Wear, if they will, the costliest gem of Ind --It pours its light on every passing eye!And he who on this beauty sets his name --Who dreams, perhaps, that for his use aloneSuch loveliness was first of angels born --Tell him, oh whisperer at his dreaming ear,That I too, in her beauty, sun my eye,And, unrebuked, may worship her in song --Tell him that heaven, along our darkling way,Hath set bright lamps with loveliness alight --And all may in their guiding beams rejoice;But he -- as 'twere a watcher by a lamp --Guards but this bright one's shining

City Lyrics

© Willis Nathaniel Parker

Argument

Will and Testament

© Isabella Whitney

The Aucthour (though loth to leave the Citie)vpon her Friendes procurement, is constrainedto departe: wherfore (she fayneth as she would die)and maketh her WYLL and Testæment, as foloweth:With large Legacies of such Goods and richeswhich she moste aboundantly hath left behind her:and therof maketh LONDON sole executor to seher Legacies performed

The Admonition by the Author to all Young Gentlewomen: And to all other Maids being in Love

© Isabella Whitney

Ye Virgins, ye from Cupid's tents do bear away the foil,Whose hearts as yet with raging love most painfully do boil.

America

© Whitfield James Monroe

America , it is to thee,Thou boasted land of liberty, --It is to thee I raise my song,Thou land of blood, and crime, and wrong

On the Dark, Still, Dry Warm Weather, Occasionally Happening in the Winter Months

© Gilbert White

To Thomas Pennant, Esquire. ... equidem credo, quia sit divinitus illis Ingenium. Virg., Georg.

Call for the Robin-redbreast and the Wren

© John Webster

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren,Since o'er shady groves they hoverAnd with leaves and flowers do coverThe friendless bodies of unburied men

Danny Boy

© Weatherly Frederick Edward

Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are callingFrom glen to glen, and down the mountain side,The summer's gone, and all the roses fallingIt's you, it's you must go, and I must bide

Albion's England

© William Warner

The Brutons thus departed hence, seven kingdoms here begun,--Where diversely in divers broils the Saxons lost and won,--King Edel and king Adelbright in Diria jointly reign;In loyal concord during life these kingly friends remain

The Long and the Short of It

© Venright Steve

The good news is that Jesus has returned.The bad news is that he's brought his family.The result is that nothing will ever be the same again (not that it ever was).

Warm Summer Sun

© Mark Twain

Warm summer sun,

To A Greek Girl On The Seashore

There are no heathen gods to play the rogueWith wandering maidens, as in olden time;Whose wild Olympian hearts were all agogTo choose their victim, and inflict their crime:Thou hast been gathering flowers, a fragrant store,But no grim Dis has seiz'd thee for his bride;And though thou rovest on this houseless shoreNo horned Zeus betrays thee to the tide

The Oak and the Hill

When the storm fell'd our oak, and thou, fair wold,Wast seen beyond it, we were slow to takeThe lesson taught, for our old neighbour's sake

The Cricket

The humming bee purrs softly o'er his flower, From lawn and thicketThe dogday locust singeth in the sun, From hour to hour;Each has his bard, and thou, ere day be done Shalt have no wrong;So bright that murmur mid the insect crowdMuffled and lost in bottom grass, or loud By pale and picket:Shall I not take to help me in my song A little cooing cricket?

The afternoon is sleepy!, let us lieBeneath these branches, whilst the burdened brookMuttering and moaning to himself goes by,And mark our minstrel's carol, whilst we lookToward the faint horizon, swooning-blue