Poems of the Great WarJohn William Cunliffe Macmillan, 1916 - 297 pagine This book is a collection of poems about the happenings of World War I. |
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Parole e frasi comuni
Alfred Perceval Graves Amelia Josephine Burr April in England battle Bearer Behold Belgium blood brave breath broken brother bugles country calls dark dead dear death deep Dick died dream drums dust earth English eyes F. W. Bourdillon faith and fire feet fell field fight fire flame Flanders Flanders fields flowers France German glory gray grim Guns of Verdun hand hear heard heart heart afire Heaven Hell hill honor Kartúshkiya-Beróza King land Langemarck lives look Lord Lys river Mother mourn never night o'er pass peace rendezvous with Death roar rose Rupert Brooke shell ships shrapnel silent sing Skyros sleep soldier song sons soul stand stars sweetheart thee thine things thou thought thunder tramp trenches Twas Verdun waves weary Wilfred Campbell wind wings wounded young
Brani popolari
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 162 - Just a plate of current fashion, Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes. Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whalebone and brocade. And I sink on a seat in the shade Of a lime tree. For my passion Wars against the stiff brocade.
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 247 - Be green upon their graves, O happy Spring! For they were young and eager who are dead! Of all things that are young, and quivering With eager life, be they remembered! They move not here! They have gone to the clay! They cannot die again for liberty! Be they remembered of their land for aye! Green be their graves, and green their memory! Fragrance and beauty come in with the green!
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...