#English #WarWriters
Cry out on Time that he may take… Your cold philosophies that give n… Of spirit—quickened flesh; fall do… That Death come never with a face… Death is our heritage; with Life…
I’ve listened: and all the sounds… Were music,—wind, and stream, and… With youth who sang from hill to h… I’ve listened: my heart is hungry… I’ve looked: the morning world was…
I heard the farm cocks crowing, lo… When hooded night was going and on… I heard shrill notes begin down th… When cloudy shoals were chinked an… White—misted was the weald; the la…
I am that fantasy which race has w… Of mundane chance—material. I am… Paeaned by the senses five like be… I am that cramped and crumbling ho… Where mansoul weaves the secret we…
To these I turn, in these I trust… Brother Lead and Sister Steel. To his blind power I make appeal; I guard her beauty clean from rust… He spins and burns and loves the a…
Tossed on the glittering air they… Whose voices make the emptiness of… A windy palace. Quavering from th… Of dawn, and bold with song at edg… They clutch their leafy pinnacles…
We’d gained our first objective ho… While dawn broke like a face with… Pallid, unshaved and thirsty, blin… Things seemed all right at first.… With bombers posted, Lewis guns w…
So Davies wrote: ‘ This leaves me… Then scrawled his name: ‘ Your lo… With crosses for a hug. He’d had… Of rum and tea; and, though the ba… For once his blood ram warm; he ha…
If you could crowd them into forty… Yes; you can do it, once you get a… All that you want is waiting in yo… For long—ago you’ve learnt it off… . . . .
Squire nagged and bullied till I… (Under Lord Derby’s Scheme). I d… (They called it Passchendaele). M… And I was hobbling back; and then… Burst slick upon the duck—boards:…
In fifty years, when peace outshin… Remembrance of the battle lines, Adventurous lads will sigh and cas… Proud looks upon the plundered pas… On summer morn or winter’s night,
Evening was in the wood, louring w… A time of drought had sucked the w… And baked the channels; birds had… Thirst was a dream of fountains in… Or willow—music blown across the w…
From you, Beethoven, Bach, Mozar… The substance of my dreams took fi… You built cathedrals in my heart, And lit my pinnacled desire. You were the ardour and the bright
In the grey summer garden I shall… With day—break and the morning hil… There will be rain—wet roses; stir… And down the wood a thrush that wa… Not from the past you’ll come, but…
Here I’m sitting in the gloom Of my quiet attic room. France goes rolling all around, Fledged with forest May has crown… And I puff my pipe, calm—hearted,