War poems
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Senlin: A Biography Pt. 01:His Dark Origins
© Conrad Aiken
He lights his pipe with a pointed flame.
'Yet, there were many autumns before I came,
And many springs. And more will come, long after
There is no horn for me, or song, or laughter.
Translation From Horace
© George Gordon Byron
[Justum et tenacem propositi virum, &c.]
The man of firm and noble soul
No factious clamours can control;
No threat'ning tyrant's darkling brow
A Walk In The Shrubbery
© Charlotte Turner Smith
To the Cistus or Rock Rose, a beautiful plant, whose flowers
expand, and fall off twice in twenty-four hours.
The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies
© Thomas Hood
I
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,and with a broader sphere
The Choice of Valentines
© Thomas Nashe
Pardon sweete flower of matchless Poetrie,
And fairest bud the red rose euer bare ;
To Amanda - Come, Dear Amanda, Quit The Town
© James Thomson
Come, dear Amanda, quit the town,
And to the rural hamlets fly;
Behold! the wintry storms are gone;
A gentle radiance glads the sky.
Off To School
© Edgar Albert Guest
IT doesn't seem a year ago that I was tumbling out of bed,
The icy steps that lead below at 1 a.m., barefoot, to tread,
And puttering round the kitchen stove, while chills ran up and down my form
As I stood there and waited for her bottled dinner to get warm;
Then sampled it to see that it was not too hot or not too cool,
That doesn't seem a year ago, and now she's trudging off to school.
Ode II
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
While wounded men leaped on their feet to hear,
And dying men upraised their eyes to see
How on the conflict's lowering canopy,
Dawned the first rainbow hues of victory!
Hyperion. Book II
© John Keats
Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings
Hyperion slid into the rustled air,
Growing Attachment
© John Kenyon
With the freshness and placid sensations of morning,
As yet all unconscious of hope or of plan,
The Siege Of Kazan. (Tartar Song, From The Prose Version Of Chodzko)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Black are the moors before Kazan,
And their stagnant waters smell of blood:
I said in my heart, with horse and man,
I will swim across this shallow flood.
The Image Of God (From The Spanish Of Francisco De Aldana)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O Lord! who seest, from yon starry height
Centred in one the future and the past
A Captive Throstle
© Alfred Austin
Poor little mite with mottled breast,
Half-fledged, and fallen from the nest,
