War poems

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My Country

© Dorothea Mackellar

My Country The love of field and coppice
Of green and shaded lanes,
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins.

The Return of Morgan and Fingal

© Edwin Arlington Robinson

And there we were together again
Together again, we three:
Morgan, Fingal, fiddle, and all,
They had come for the night with me.

Tasker Norcross

© Edwin Arlington Robinson

Ferguson,
Who talked himself at last out of the world
He censured, and is therefore silent now,
Agreed indifferently: My friends are dead
Or most of them.

Siege Perilous

© Edwin Arlington Robinson

Long warned of many terrors more severe
To scorch him than hells engines could awaken,
He scanned again, too far to be so near,
The fearful seat no man had ever taken.

When the brethren heard of us, they came to meet us as far as Appii Forum, and The Three Taverns.(Acts xxviii, 15)
Herodion, Apelles, Amplias,
And Andronicus? Is it you I see
At last? And is it you now that are gazing

Bokardo

© Edwin Arlington Robinson

Well, Bokardo, here we are;
Make yourself at home.
Look aroundyou havent far
To lookand why be dumb?

The Book of Annandale

© Edwin Arlington Robinson

IPartly to think, more to be left alone,
George Annandale said something to his friends
A word or two, brusque, but yet smoothed enough
To suit their funeral gazeand went upstairs;

Sainte-Nitouche

© Edwin Arlington Robinson

Though not for common praise of him,
Nor yet for pride or charity,
Still would I make to Vanderberg
One tribute for his memory:

Nimmo

© Edwin Arlington Robinson

Since you remember Nimmo, and arrive
At such a false and florid and far drawn
Confusion of odd nonsense, I connive
No longer, though I may have led you on.

Llewellyn and the Tree

© Edwin Arlington Robinson

Could he have made Priscilla share
The paradise that he had planned,
Llewellyn would have loved his wife
As well as any in the land.

The Altar

Alas! I said,the world is in the wrong.
But the same quenchless fever of unrest
That thrilled the foremost of that martyred throng
Thrilled me, and I awoke and was the same
Bewildered insect plunging for the flame
That burns, and must burn somehow for the best.

Avon's Harvest

Mightnt it be as well, my friend, I said,
For you to contemplate the uncompleted
With not such an infernal certainty?

The Town Down by the River

ISaid the Watcher by the Way
To the young and the unladen,
To the boy and to the maiden,
"God be with you both to-day.

The Klondike

Never mind the day we left, or the day the women clung to us;
All we need now is the last way they looked at us.
Never mind the twelve men there amid the cheering
Twelve men or one man, t will soon be all the same;
For this is what we know: we are five men together,
Five left o twelve men to find the golden river.