A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the World war, 1914-1917, ed., with intr., and notes, by G.H. Clarke

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George Herbert Clarke
Hodder and Stoughton, 1917 - 448
 

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Strona 152 - 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.
Strona 151 - I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear. God knows 't were 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...
Strona 151 - 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.
Strona 225 - They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them.
Strona 155 - 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...
Strona 22 - FOR all we have and are, For all our children's fate, Stand up and take the war, The Hun is at the gate! Our world has passed away, In wantonness o'erthrown. There is nothing left to-day But steel and fire and stone! Though all we knew depart, The old Commandments stand: — ' In courage keep your heart, In strength lift up your hand.
Strona 89 - THE SPIRES OF OXFORD (SEEN FROM THE TRAIN) Winifred M. Letts I saw the spires of Oxford As I was passing by, The gray spires of Oxford Against a 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 cricket field, the quad, The shaven lawns of Oxford To seek a bloody sod— They...
Strona 223 - But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. 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.
Strona 236 - I cannot quite remember. . . . There were five Dropt dead beside me in the trench — and three Whispered their dying messages to me. . . .
Strona 223 - These hearts were woven of human joys and cares, Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth. The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs, And sunset, and the colors of the earth. These had seen movement, and heard music; known Slumber and waking; loved, gone proudly friended; Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone; Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended. There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter And lit by the rich skies, all...

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