War poems
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To John Keats
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
'Tis well you think me truly one of those,
Whose sense discerns the loveliness of things;
For surely as I feel the bird that sings
Behind the leaves, or dawn as it up grows,
Mother Of Nations - Why?
© Albert Durrant Watson
Does the Mother of Nations draw the sword
To rescue her children oppressed ?
They have all that the richest lands afford;
They sit content at an ample board
As safe as a bird in its nest.
Song (Untitled #13)
© George Meredith
Under boughs of breathing May,
In the mild spring-time I lay,
Lonely, for I had no love;
And the sweet birds all sang for pity,
Cuckoo, lark, and dove.
John Underhill
© John Greenleaf Whittier
A score of years had come and gone
Since the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth stone,
When Captain Underhill, bearing scars
From Indian ambush and Flemish wars,
Left three-hilled Boston and wandered down,
East by north, to Cocheco town.
The Eye-Mote
© Sylvia Plath
Blameless as daylight I stood looking
At a field of horses, necks bent, manes blown,
Tails streaming against the green
Backdrop of sycamores. Sun was striking
White chapel pinnacles over the roofs,
Holding the horses, the clouds, the leaves
By the Babe Unborn
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
If trees were tall and grasses short,
As in some crazy tale,
Contrasted Songs: A Lily And The Lute
© Jean Ingelow
“Nay! but thou a spirit art;
Men shall take thee in the mart
For the ghost of their best thought,
Raised at noon, and near them brought;
Or the prayer they made last night,
Set before them all in white.”
To A Young Ass, Its Mother Being Tethered Near It
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Poor little Foal of an oppressed race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
At The Corregidors
© Madison Julius Cawein
To Don Odora says Donna De Vine:
"I yield to thy long endeavor!--
At my balcony be on the stroke of nine,
And, Signor, am thine forever!"
The Arctic Voyager
© Henry Timrod
Shall I desist, twice baffled? Once by land,
And once by sea, I fought and strove with storms,
The Cloud
© Charles Harpur
And oh! she said, that by some act of grace
Twere mine to succour yon fierce-toiling race,
To give the hungry meat, the thirsty drink
The thought of good is very sweet to think.
On a fateful day, an unlucky time
© Boris Pasternak
On a fateful day, an unlucky time,
Unannounced, it may happen thus:
Stifling, blacker still than a monastery
Utter madness descends on us.
The Vision Of The Maid Of Orleans - The Third Book
© Robert Southey
The Maiden, musing on the Warrior's words,
Turn'd from the Hall of Glory. Now they reach'd
Astraea: The Balance Of Illusions
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Dear to his age were memories such as these,
Leaves of his June in life's autumnal breeze;
Such were the tales that won my boyish ear,
Told in low tones that evening loves to hear.
Ode Composed On A May Morning
© William Wordsworth
WHILE from the purpling east departs
The star that led the dawn,
Genesis BK XVIII
© Caedmon
(ll. 1082-1089) And there was also in that tribe another son of
Lamech, called Tubal Cain, a smith skilled in his craft. He was
the first of all men on the earth to fashion tools of husbandry;
and far and wide the city-dwelling sons of men made use of bronze
and iron.
