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Le Byron De Nos Jours; Or, The English Bar And Cross Reviewers Le Byron De Nos Jours; Or, The English Bar And Cross Reviewers

Le Byron De Nos Jours; Or, The English Bar And Cross Reviewers
Still must I hear?--while Austin prints his verse And Satan's sorrows fill Corelli's purse, Must I not write lest haply some K.C. To flatter Tennyson should sneer at me? Or must the Angels of the Darker Ink No longer tell the public what to think-- Must lectures and reviewing all be stayed Until they're licensed by the Board of Trade? Prepare for rhyme--I'll risk it--bite or bark I'll stop the press for neither Gosse nor Clarke. O sport most noble, when two cocks engage With equal blindness and with equal... Poems - Post by : keywordguru - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 1592

Epistle Epistle

Epistle
TO COLONEL FRANCIS EDWARD YOUNGHUSBAND Across the Western World, the Arabian Sea, The Hundred Kingdoms and the Rivers Three, Beyond the rampart of Himalayan snows, And up the road that only Rumour knows, Unchecked, old friend, from Devon to Thibet, Friendship and Memory dog your footsteps yet. Let not the scornful ask me what avails So small a pack to follow mighty trails: Long since I saw what difference must be Between a stream like you, a ditch like me. This drains a garden and a homely field Which... Poems - Post by : Gedagger - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 1753

The Building Of The Temple The Building Of The Temple

The Building Of The Temple
(AN ANTHEM HEARD IN CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL)_The Organ._O Lord our God, we are strangers before Thee, and sojourners, as were all our fathers: our days on the earth are as a shadow, and there is none abiding.O Lord God of our fathers, keep this for ever in the imagination of thethoughts of Thy people, and prepare their heart unto Thee.And give unto Solomon my son a perfect heart to keep Thy commandments, and to build the palace for the which I have made provision._Boys' voices._ O come to the Palace of Life, Let us build it again. It was... Poems - Post by : Shannon_Brown - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 1121

Hymn: In The Time Of War And Tumults Hymn: In The Time Of War And Tumults

Hymn: In The Time Of War And Tumults
O Lord Almighty, Thou whose hands Despair and victory give; In whom, though tyrants tread their lands, The souls of nations live; Thou wilt not turn Thy face away From those who work Thy will, But send Thy peace on hearts that pray, And guard Thy people still. Remember not the days of shame, The hands with rapine dyed, The wavering will, the baser aim, The brute material pride: Remember, Lord, the years of faith,... Poems - Post by : sylvain - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 2734

Ireland, Ireland Ireland, Ireland

Ireland, Ireland
Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland, Down thy valleys green and sad, Still thy spirit wanders wailing, Wanders wailing, wanders mad. Long ago that anguish took thee, Ireland, Ireland, green and fair, Spoilers strong in darkness took thee, Broke thy heart and left thee there. Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland, Still thy spirit wanders mad; All too late they love that wronged thee, Ireland, Ireland, green and sad.(The end)Henry Newbolt's poem: Ireland, Ireland... Poems - Post by : joekumar2003 - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 907

Felix Antonius Felix Antonius

Felix Antonius
(AFTER MARTIAL) To-day, my friend is seventy-five; He tells his tale with no regret, His brave old eyes are steadfast yet, His heart the lightest heart alive. He sees behind him green and wide The pathway of his pilgrim years; He sees the shore, and dreadless hears The whisper of the creeping tide. For out of all his days, not one Has passed and left its unlaid ghost To seek a light for ever lost, Or wail... Poems - Post by : Morgankane - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 2344

Pereunt Et Imputantur Pereunt Et Imputantur

Pereunt Et Imputantur
(AFTER MARTIAL) Bernard, if to you and me Fortune all at once should give Years to spend secure and free, With the choice of how to live, Tell me, what should we proclaim Life deserving of the name? Winning some one else's case? Saving some one else's seat? Hearing with a solemn face People of importance bleat? No, I think we should not still Waste our time at others' will. Summer noons beneath the limes, Summer rides... Poems - Post by : urworthit - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 900

Rilloby-rill Rilloby-rill

Rilloby-rill
Grasshoppers four a-fiddling went, Heigh-ho! never be still! They earned but little towards their rent But all day long with their elbows bent They fiddled a tune called Rilloby-rilloby, Fiddled a tune called Rilloby-rill. Grasshoppers soon on Fairies came, Heigh-ho! never be still! Fairies asked with a manner of blame, "Where do you come from, what is your name? What do... Poems - Post by : pocketmoneynow - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 2506

The Invasion The Invasion

The Invasion
Spring, they say, with his greenery Northward marches at last, Mustering thorn and elm; Breezes rumour him conquering, Tell how Victory sits High on his glancing helm. Smit with sting of his archery, Hardest ashes and oaks Burn at the root below: Primrose, violet, daffodil, Start like blood where the shafts... Poems - Post by : Carmelo - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 1638

Nel Mezzo Del Cammin Nel Mezzo Del Cammin

Nel Mezzo Del Cammin
Whisper it not that late in years Sorrow shall fade and the world be brighter, Life be freed of tremor and tears, Heads be wiser and hearts be lighter. Ah! but the dream that all endears, The dream we sell for your pottage of truth-- Give us again the passion of youth, Sorrow shall fade and the world be brighter.(The end)Henry Newbolt's poem: Nel Mezzo Del Cammin... Poems - Post by : antikkiti - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 596

Imogen Imogen

Imogen
(A LADY OF TENDER AGE) Ladies were your bright eyes glancing, Where were they glancing yesternight? Saw ye Imogen dancing, dancing, Imogen dancing all in white? Laughed she not with a pure delight, Laughed she not with a joy serene, Stepped she not with a grace entrancing, Slenderly girt in silken sheen? All through the night from dusk to daytime Under her feet the hours were swift, Under her feet the hours of playtime... Poems - Post by : Dioqq - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 3022

Gavotte Gavotte

Gavotte
(OLD FRENCH) Memories long in music sleeping, No more sleeping, No more dumb: Delicate phantoms softly creeping Softly back from the old-world come. Faintest odours around them straying, Suddenly straying In chambers dim; Whispering silks in order swaying, Glimmering gems on shoulders slim: Courage advancing strong and tender, Grace untender Fanning desire; Suppliant conquest, proud surrender, Courtesy cold of hearts on fire--... Poems - Post by : bwwhite - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 3200

A Song Of Exmoor A Song Of Exmoor

A Song Of Exmoor
The Forest above and the Combe below, On a bright September morn! He's the soul of a clod who thanks not God That ever his body was born! So hurry along, the stag's afoot, The Master's up and away! Halloo! Halloo! we'll follow it through From Bratton to Porlock Bay! _So hurry along, the stag's afoot, The Master's up and away! Halloo! Halloo! we'll follow it through From Bratton to Porlock Bay!_ Hark to the... Poems - Post by : Jeremiah - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 810

Moonset Moonset

Moonset
Past seven o'clock: time to be gone; Twelfth-night's over and dawn shivering up: A hasty cut of the loaf, a steaming cup, Down to the door, and there is Coachman John. Ruddy of cheek is John and bright of eye; But John it appears has none of your grins and winks; Civil enough, but short: perhaps he thinks: Words come once in a mile, and always dry. Has he a mind or not? I wonder; but soon We turn through a leafless wood, and there to the right, Like a... Poems - Post by : netvicar - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 2650

Fidele's Grassy Tomb Fidele's Grassy Tomb

Fidele's Grassy Tomb
The Squire sat propped in a pillowed chair, His eyes were alive and clear of care, But well he knew that the hour was come To bid good-bye to his ancient home. He looked on garden, wood, and hill, He looked on the lake, sunny and still: The last of earth that his eyes could see Was the island church of Orchardleigh. The last that his heart could understand Was the touch of the tongue that licked his hand "Bury the dog at my feet," he said, And his voice... Poems - Post by : surefire - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 630

The Cicalas: An Idyll The Cicalas: An Idyll

The Cicalas: An Idyll
_Scene_: AN ENGLISH GARDEN BY STARLIGHT_Persons_: A LADY AND A POET THE POET Dimly I see your face: I hear your breath Sigh faintly, as a flower might sigh in death And when you whisper, you but stir the air With a soft hush like summer's own despair. THE LADY (_aloud_) O Night divine, O Darkness ever blest, Give to our old sad Earth eternal rest. Since from her heart all beauty ebbs away, Let her no more endure the shame of day. THE POET A thousand ages have... Poems - Post by : PHPAudit - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 804

Dream-market Dream-market

Dream-market
A MASQUE PRESENTED AT WILTON HOUSE,JULY 28, 1909Scene. A LAWN IN THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE'S ARCADIAEnter FLORA, Lady of Summer, with her maidens, PHYLLIS and AMARYLLIS. She takes her seat upon a bank, playing with a basket of freshly gathered flowers, one of which she presently holds up in her hand.FLORA. Ah! how I love a rose! But come, my girls, Here's for your task: to-day you, Amaryllis, Shall take the white, and, Phyllis, you the red. Hold out your kirtles for them. White, red, white, Red, red, and white again. . . .... Poems - Post by : nethania - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 1225

The Return Of Summer: An Eclogue The Return Of Summer: An Eclogue

The Return Of Summer: An Eclogue
Scene: ASHDOWN FOREST IN MAYPersons: H.--A POET; C.--HIS DAUGHTER H. Here then, if you insist, my daughter: still, I must confess that I preferred the hill. The warm scent of the pinewood seemed to me The first true breath of summer; did you see The waxen hurt-bells with their promised fruit Already purple at the blossom's root, And thick among the rusty bracken strown... Poems - Post by : welshbeef - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 1502

To Clare To Clare

To Clare
(WITH A VOLUME OF STORIES FROM FROISSART) My Clare,-- These tales were told, you know, In French, five hundred years ago, By old Sir John, whose heart's delight Was lady sweet and valiant knight. A hundred years went by, and then A great lord told the tales again, When bluff King Hal desired his folk To read them in the tongue they spoke. Last, I myself among them took What I loved best and made this book. Great, lesser, less--these writers three Worked for the days they could... Poems - Post by : Brian_Harvard - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 1625

The Adventurers The Adventurers

The Adventurers
Over the downs in sunlight clear Forth we went in the spring of the year: Plunder of April's gold we sought, Little of April's anger thought. Caught in a copse without defence Low we crouched to the rain-squall dense: Sure, if misery man can vex, There it beat on our bended necks. Yet when again we wander on Suddenly all that gloom is gone: Under and over through the wood, Life is astir, and life is good. Violets purple, violets white, Delicate windflowers dancing light, Primrose, mercury,... Poems - Post by : Dechenlau - Date : July 2011 - Author : Henry Newbolt - Read : 944