Poems of the Great War

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John William Cunliffe
Macmillan, 1916 - 297 pagine

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Pagina 38 - If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and...
Pagina 118 - The naked earth is warm with spring, And with green grass and bursting trees Leans to the sun's gaze glorying, And quivers in the sunny breeze ; And life is colour and warmth and light, And a striving evermore for these ; And he is dead who will not fight ; And who dies fighting has increase.
Pagina 232 - I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air — I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath — It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with...
Pagina 161 - PATTERNS I walk down the garden paths, And all the daffodils Are blowing, and the bright blue squills. I walk down the patterned garden-paths In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jewelled fan, I too am a rare Pattern. As I wander down The garden paths. My dress is richly figured, And the train Makes a pink and silver stain On the gravel, and the thrift Of the borders. Just a plate of current fashion, Tripping...
Pagina 120 - Joy-of-Battle takes Him by the throat, and makes him blind, Through joy and blindness he shall know, Not caring much to know, that still Nor lead nor steel shall reach him, so That it be not the Destined Will. The thundering line of battle stands, And in the air Death moans and sings; But Day shall clasp him with strong hands, And Night shall fold him in soft wings. Julian Grenfell...
Pagina 21 - They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old : Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
Pagina 161 - Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes. Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whale-bone and brocade. And I sink on a seat in the shade Of a lime tree. For my passion Wars against the stiff brocade.
Pagina 72 - FRANCELINE rose in the dawning gray, And her heart would dance though she knelt to pray, For her man Michel had holiday, Fighting for France. She offered her prayer by the cradle-side, And with baby palms folded in hers she cried : "If I have but one prayer, dear, crucified Christ — save France ! "But if I have two, then, by Mary's grace, Carry me safe to the meeting-place, Let me look once again on my dear love's face, Save him for France!
Pagina 157 - THE SPIRES OF OXFORD I SAW the spires of Oxford As I was passing by, The gray spires of Oxford Against the pearl-gray sky. My heart was with the Oxford men Who went abroad to die. The years go fast in Oxford, The golden years and gay, The hoary Colleges look down On careless boys at play. But when the bugles sounded war They put their games away. They left the peaceful river, The...
Pagina 233 - twere better to be deep Pillowed in silk and scented down, Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep, Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath, Where hushed awakenings are dear . . . But I've a rendezvous with Death...

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