War poems
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Tantramar Revisited
© Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
Summers and summers have come, and gone with the flight of the swallow;Sunshine and thunder have been, storm, and winter, and frost;Many and many a sorrow has all but died from remembrance,Many a dream of joy fall'n in the shadow of pain
In an Old Barn
© Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
Tons upon tons the brown-green fragrant hay O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves, Up to the rafters where the spider weaves,Though few flies wander his secluded way
The Iceberg
© Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
I was spawned from the glacier,A thousand miles due northBeyond Cape Chidley;And the spawning,When my vast, wallowing bulk went under,Emerged and heaved aloft,Shaking down cataracts from its rocking sides,With mountainous surge and thunderOutraged the silence of the Arctic sea
White Flock
© Anna Akhmatova
Copyright Anna Akhmatova
Copyright English translation by Ilya Shambat (ilya_shambat@yahoo.com)
Origin: http://www.geocities.com/ilya_shambat/akhmatova.html
The Grey-Eyed King
© Anna Akhmatova
Hail! Hail to thee, o, immovable pain!
The young grey-eyed king had been yesterday slain.
Stones from Ashbourn Churchyard
© Reibetanz John
Jesse Quantrill, MillerThe toll taken, the grist drest:Here the bran, the flour with Christ.
Iris Holden, District Nurse
© Reibetanz John
`Love's mysteries in souls do grow,But yet the body is his book.'
Eyethurl
© Reibetanz John
Sometimes, at night,when the north wind slams against the houseand downpipes shudder and whistle,I climb steep attic steps to findheart in a blank window.
To a Lady with an Unruly and Ill-mannered Dog Who Bit several Persons of Importance
© Raleigh Walter Alexander
Your dog is not a dog of grace;He does not wag the tail or beg;He bit Miss Dickson in the face;He bit a Bailie in the leg.
The Iliad, Book XII
© Alexander Pope
Furious he spoke, and rushing to the wall,Calls on his host; his host obey the call;With ardour follow where their leader flies:Redoubling clamours thunder in the skies
A Word From a Petitioner
© Pierpont John
What! our petitions spurned! The prayerOf thousands, -- tens of thousands, -- castUnheard, beneath your Speaker's chair!But ye will hear us, first or last
Song
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
I shall not go with painWhether you hold me, whether you forgetMy little loss and my immortal gain.O flower unseen, O fountain sealed apart!Give me one look, one look remembering yet,Sweet heart.
The Splendid Shilling
© Philips John
-- -- Sing, Heavenly Muse,Things unattempted yet in Prose or Rhime,A Shilling, Breeches, and Chimera's Dire.
Bleinheim, a Poem
© Philips John
From low and abject themes the grov'ling museNow mounts aërial, to sing of armsTriumphant, and emblaze the martial actsOf Britain's hero; may the verse not sinkBeneath his merits, but detain a whileThy ear, O Harley, (though thy country's wealDepends on thee, though mighty Anne requiresThy hourly counsels) since with ev'ry artThy self adorn'd, the mean essays of youthThou wilt not damp, but guide, wherever found,The willing genius to the muses' seat:Therefore thee first, and last, the muse shall sing
Quia Multum Amavit
© John Payne
Just a drowned woman, with death-draggled hair And wan eyes, all a-stare;The weary limbs composed in ghastly rest, The hands together prest,Tight holding something that the flood has spared, Nor even the rough workhouse folk have dared To separate from her wholly, but untiedGently the knotted hands and laid it by her side
A Satire, in Imitation of the Third of Juvenal
© John Oldham
Though much concern'd to leave my dear old friend,I must however his design commendOf fixing in the country: for were IAs free to choose my residence, as he;The Peak, the Fens, the Hundreds, or Land's End,I would prefer to Fleet Street, or the Strand
