#English #XXCentury #Metaphor #RhymedStanza
He fell in victory’s fierce pursui… Holed through and through with sho… A sabre sweep had hacked him deep Twixt neck and shoulderknot.... The potman cannot well recall,
he child alone a poet is: Spring and Fairyland are his. Truth and Reason show but dim, And all’s poetry with him. Rhyme and music flow in plenty
If strange things happen where she… So that men say that graves open And the dead walk, or that futurit… Becomes a womb and the unborn are… Such portents are not to be wonder…
His eyes are quickened so with gri… He can watch a grass or leaf Every instant grow; he can Clearly through a flint wall see, Or watch the startled spirit flee
Children are dumb to say how hot t… How hot the scent is of the summer… How dreadful the black wastes of e… How dreadful the tall soldiers dru… But we have speech, to chill the a…
Can I find True—Love a gift In this dark hour to restore her, When body’s vessel breaks adrift, When hope and beauty fade before h… But in this plight I cannot think
Louder than gulls the little child… Whom fathers haul into the jovial… But others fearlessly rush in, bre… Laughing the salty water from thei… Heroes of the nursery.
Listen now this time Shortly to my rhyme That herewith starts About certain kind hearts In those stricken parts
And what of home—how goes it, boys… While we die here in stench and no… ‘The hill stands up and hedges win… Over the crest and drop behind; Here swallows dip and wild things…
Children, if you dare to think Of the greatness, rareness, muchne… Fewness of this precious only Endless world in which you say You live, you think of things like…
Henry, Henry, do you love me? Do I love you, Mary? Oh, can you mean to liken me To the aspen tree. Whose leaves do shake and vary,
Lost manor where I walk continual… A ghost, while yet in woman’s fles… Up your broad stairs mounting with… And gliding steadfast down your co… I come by nightly custom to this r…
Across the room my silent love I… Where you sit sewing in bed by can… Your young stern profile and indus… Displayed against the blind in a s… To Dinda’s grave delight.
Gulp down your wine, old friends o… Roar through the darkness, stamp a… And lay ghost hands on everything, But leave the noonday’s warm sunsh… To living lads for mirth and wine.
Blacksmith Green had three strong… With bread and beef did fill 'em, Now John and Ned are perished and… But plenty remains of William. John Green was a whiskey drinker,