A Treasury of War Poetry: British and American Poems of the World War, 1914-1917George Herbert Clarke Houghton Mifflin, 1917 - 280 sider |
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A Treasury of War Poetry: British and American Poems of the World War, 1914-1917 George Herbert Clarke Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1917 |
A Treasury of War Poetry: British and American Poems of the World War, 1914-1917 George Herbert Clarke Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1917 |
A Treasury of War Poetry: British and American Poems of the World War, 1914-1917 George Herbert Clarke Uten tilgangsbegrensning - 1917 |
Vanlige uttrykk og setninger
Alan Seeger Alfred Noyes America battle BATTLE OF LIÈGE beat beauty Belgium blood brave breath burning Captain Charles Hamilton Sorley Cross crown dark dawn dead dear death died dream drum earth Eden Phillpotts England English eyes face faith fall fate feet fell field fight fire Flags of France flame Flanders flowers Frederick George Scott Freedom friends George Herbert Clarke glad glory gray Guns of Verdun hand hath heard heart Heaven Hell Henry Newbolt hill Honour hope hush land Langemarck Laurence Binyon Lieutenant light lips live London look Lord Messrs never night o'er Oxford pain peace Poems prayer rendezvous with Death road Rupert Brooke shadows shell shining sing sleep soldier song soul spirit stand star stood sword tears thee thine thou thought thunder tread trench Verdun vive wake and take WAR-TIME wind word wounded
Populære avsnitt
Side 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, 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...
Side 223 - Honour has come back, as a king, to earth, And paid his subjects with a royal wage; And Nobleness walks in our ways again; And we have come into our heritage.
Side 155 - And only 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.
Side 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...
Side 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.
Side 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.
Side 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.
Side 236 - I cannot quite remember. . . . There were five Dropt dead beside me in the trench — and three Whispered their dying messages to me.
Side 89 - 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...
Side 164 - Green 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 behind the wreckage where the back wall should have been We found a garden green.