War poems
/ page 6 of 504 /
The Castle of Indolence: Canto I
© James Thomson
The Castle hight of Indolence,And its false luxury;Where for a little time, alas!We liv'd right jollily.
Meeting at Night
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.
To Virgil, Written at the Request of the Mantuans for the Nineteenth Centenary of Virgil's Death
© Alfred Tennyson
Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion's lofty temples robed in fire,Ilion falling, Rome arising, wars, and filial faith, and Dido's pyre;
Locksley Hall Sixty Years After
© Alfred Tennyson
Late, my grandson! half the morning have I paced these sandy tracts,Watch'd again the hollow ridges roaring into cataracts,
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 131
© Alfred Tennyson
O living will that shalt endure When all that seems shall suffer shock, Rise in the spiritual rock,Flow thro' our deeds and make them pure,
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII [all 133 poems]
© Alfred Tennyson
[Preface] Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace,Believing where we cannot prove;
Battle of Brunanburh
© Alfred Tennyson
Constantinus, King of the Scots, after having sworn allegiance to Athelstan, allied himself with the Danes of Ireland under Anlaf, and invading England, was defeated by Athelstan and his brother Edmund with great slaughter at Brunanburh in the year 937
The Gardener 38
© Rabindranath Tagore
My love, once upon a time your poet launched a great epic in his mind
Fruit-gathering XXXVI
© Rabindranath Tagore
UPAGUPTA, the disciple of Buddha, lay asleep on the dust by the city wall of Mathura
Atalanta in Calydon: A Tragedy (complete text)
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
Tous zontas eu dran. katthanon de pas anerGe kai skia. to meden eis ouden repei
London, hast thou Accused me
© Henry Howard
London, hast thou accused meOf breach of laws, the root of strife?Within whose breast did boil to see,So fervent hot, thy dissolute life,That even the hate of sins that growWithin thy wicked walls so rife,For to break forth did convert soThat terror could it not repress
Farmer's Daughter
© Sullivan Rosemary
I spent the longest timetrying to find you,the vague woman in a houseroaring with a man's need.
Spleen
© Sturm Frank Pearce
I'm like some king in whose corrupted veinsFlows agèd blood; who rules a land of rains;Who, young in years, is old in all distress;Who flees good counsel to find wearinessAmong his dogs and playthings, who is stirredNeither by hunting-hound nor hunting-bird;Whose weary face emotion moves no moreE'en when his people die before his door
What's the Good?
© Studdert Kennedy Geoffrey Anketell
Well, I've done my bit o' scrappin', And I've done in quite a lot;Nicked 'em neatly wiv my bayonet, So I needn't waste a shot
To Stretcher Bearers
© Studdert Kennedy Geoffrey Anketell
Easy does it -- bit o' trench 'ere,Mind that blinkin' bit o' wire,There's a shell 'ole on your left there,Lift 'im up a little 'igher
Mors Benefica
© Stedman Edmund Clarence
Give me to die unwitting of the day, And stricken in Life's brave heat, with senses clear: Not swathed and couched until the lines appearOf Death's wan mask upon this withering clay,But as that old man eloquent made way From Earth, a nation's conclave hushed anear; Or as the chief whose fates, that he may hearThe victory, one glorious moment stay
