The Muse in Arms: A Collection of War Poems, for the Most Part Written in the Field of Action, by Seamen, Soldiers and Flying Men who are Serving, Or Have Served, in the Great WarEdward Bolland Osborn J. Murray, 1917 - 295 pagine |
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battle blind blood brave breath breeze burning CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY clouds comrades dark dawn dead dear death dream E. A. MACKINTOSH earth EDWARD SHANKS England eyes F. W. HARVEY face fear fighting boar fire flame Flanders friends glad golden grave GRENFell grey grief guns hand hear the call heart HERBERT ASQUITH honour hour Ivinghoe Ivinghoe hill IVOR GURNEY JULIAN GRENFell killed knew land LIEUTENANT light live Lord MacCrimmon marching morning mother mother's Birthday never night o'er pale pass PATRICK MACGILL peace play poems rain ROBERT NICHOLS Rose Says the drum shadows shell ship SIEGFRIED SASSOON sing skies sleep smile sodger soldier song sorrow soul sound stand stars strong Suvla Bay sweet swift tears thee There's things Thou thought thrill thunder trench Twas voices W. N. HODGSON watch WILLOUGHBY WEAVING wind
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Pagina 1 - 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 the suns of home.
Pagina 18 - Bid him be swift and keen as they, As keen of ear, as swift of sight. The blackbird sings to him, " Brother, brother, If this be the last song you shall sing, Sing well, for you may not sing another ; Brother, sing." In dreary, doubtful, waiting hours, Before the brazen frenzy starts, The horses show him nobler powers ; O patient eyes, courageous hearts ! And when the burning moment breaks, And all things else are out of mind, And only Joy of Battle takes Him by the throat, and makes him blind, Through...
Pagina 147 - TO GERMANY You are blind like us. Your hurt no man designed, And no man claimed the conquest of your land. But gropers both, through fields of thought confined, We stumble and we do not understand. You only saw your future bigly planned, And we the tapering paths of our own mind, And in each other's dearest ways we stand, And hiss and hate. And the blind fight the blind. When it is peace, then we may view again With new-won eyes each other's truer form And wonder. Grown more loving-kind and warm...
Pagina 145 - Saints have adored the lofty soul of you. Poets have whitened at your high renown. We stand among the many millions who Do hourly wait to pass your pathway down. You, so familiar, once were strange: we tried To live as of your presence unaware. But now in every road on every side We see your straight and steadfast signpost there. I think it like that signpost in my land Hoary and tall, which pointed me to go Upward, into the hills, on the right hand, Where the mists swim and the winds shriek and...
Pagina 7 - Gilbert Frankau HOME THOUGHTS FROM LAVENTIE GiJEEM gardens in Laventie! Soldiers only know the street Where the mud is churned and splashed about By battle-wending feet; And yet beside one stricken house there is a glimpse of grass — Look for it when you pass. Beyond the church whose pitted spire Seems balanced on a strand Of swaying stone and tottering brick, Two roofless ruins stand; And here, among the wreckage, where the back-wall should have been, We found a garden green.
Pagina 66 - I'm looking for headquarters." No reply. "God blast your neck!" (For days he'd had no sleep.) "Get up and guide me through this stinking place.
Pagina 215 - WHEN you see millions of the mouthless dead Across your dreams in pale battalions go, Say not soft things as other men have said, That you'll remember. For you need not so. Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know It is not curses heaped on each gashed head? Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow. Nor honour. It is easy to be dead. Say only this, "They are dead." Then add thereto, "Yet many a better one has died before.
Pagina 7 - Where the mud is churned and splashed about By battle-wending feet ; And yet beside one stricken house there is a glimpse of grass, Look for it when you pass. Beyond the Church whose pitted spire Seems balanced on a strand Of swaying stone and tottering brick Two roofless ruins stand, And here behind the wreckage where the back wall should have been We found a garden green.
Pagina 141 - BLOW out, you bugles, over the rich dead ! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.
Pagina 141 - These laid the world away ; poured out the red Sweet wine of youth ; gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, That men call age ; and those who would have been, Their sons, they gave, their immortality.