War poems
/ page 50 of 504 /
Day
© James Brunton Stephens
Linger, oh Sun, for a little, nor close yet this day of a million!
Is there not glory enough in the rose-curtained halls of the West?
Hast thou no joy in the passion-hued folds of thy kingly pavilion?
Why shouldst thou only pass through it? Oh rest thee a little while, rest!
How The Robin Came
© John Greenleaf Whittier
When next morn the sun's first rays
Glistened on the hemlock sprays,
Straight that lodge the old chief sought,
And boiled sainp and moose meat brought.
"Rise and eat, my son!" he said.
Lo, he found the poor boy dead!
Miriam
© John Greenleaf Whittier
But over Akbar's brows the frown hung black,
And, turning to the eunuch at his back,
"Take them," he said, "and let the Jumna's waves
Hide both my shame and these accursed slaves!"
His loathly length the unsexed bondman bowed
"On my head be it!"
Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Book XII - Aswa-Medha - (Sacrifice Of The Horse)
© Romesh Chunder Dutt
The real Epic ends with the war and the funerals of the deceased
warriors. Much of what follows in the original Sanscrit poem is
Sent To Mr. Haley, On Reading His Epistles On Epic Poetry
© Henry James Pye
What blooming garlands shall the Muses twine,
What verdant laurels weave, what flowers combine,
The Hour When We Shall Meet Again
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Dim hour! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar,
O rise and yoke the turtles to thy car!
Bend o'er the traces, blame each ligering dove!
And give me to the bosom of my love!
Vesalius In Zante
© Edith Wharton
Set wide the window. Let me drink the day.
I loved light ever, light in eye and brain
No tapers mirrored in long palace floors,
Nor dedicated depths of silent aisles,
But just the common dusty wind-blown day
That roofs earths millions.
State Of Siege
© Arthur Rimbaud
The poor omnibus driver under the tin canopy,
warming a huge chilblain inside his glove,
follows his heavy omnibus along the left bank,
and from his inflated groin thrusts away the moneybag.
The Hoosier Folk-Child
© James Whitcomb Riley
The Hoosier Folk-Child--all unsung--
Unlettered all of mind and tongue;
Rothesay Bay
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
O I had ance a true-love,--
Now, I hae nane ava;
And I had ance three brithers,
But I hae tint them a';
My father and my mither
Sleep i' the mools this day.
The Nevers of Poetry
© Charles Harpur
Never heed whether a line strictly goes
By learned rule, if, brook-like, it warble as it flows,
Or if, in concord with the thought, it fills
Fast forward, like a torrent fast flooding from the hills.
The Lotos
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
DROOPING in the sunlit streams,
We are wrapped all day in dreams;
Morn and noon and evening light
Robed for us in garbs of night.
A Legend Of Brittany - Part Second
© James Russell Lowell
I
As one who, from the sunshine and the green,
Trivia ; or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London : Book III
© John Gay
Of Walking the Streets by Night.
O Trivia, goddess, leave these low abodes,
On The Slain Collegians
© Herman Melville
Youth is the time when hearts are large,
And stirring wars
Mother and Daughter- Sonnet Sequence
© Augusta Davies Webster
Oh goddess head! Oh innocent brave eyes!
Oh curved and parted lips where smiles are rare
And sweetness ever! Oh smooth shadowy hair
Gathered around the silence of her brow!
Child, I'd needs love thy beauty stranger-wise:
And oh the beauty of it, being thou!
If I Forget Thee, O Jerusalem
© Jean Ingelow
'Many,' methought, 'and rich
They must have been, so long their chronicle.
Perhaps the world was fuller then of folk,
For ships at sea are few that near us now.'
Missing
© Katharine Tynan
He is "Missing," and forlorn
Drag her days in grief and pain.
Every morn a hope is born,
Only to be lost again.
Rural Elegance, An Ode to the Late Duchess of Somerset
© William Shenstone
While orient skies restore the day,
And dew-drops catch the lucid ray;
Amid the sprightly scenes of morn
Will aught the Muse inspire?
Oh! peace to yonder clamorous horn
That drowns the sacred lyre!
The Two Dreams
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
I WILL that if I say a heavy thing
Your tongues forgive me; seeing ye know that spring
