The Poetry of Peace

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Robert Maynard Leonard
H. Milford, Oxford University Press, 1918 - 128 страници
 

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Страница 117 - For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be ; Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales ; Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained a ghastly dew From the nations...
Страница 16 - Old Kaspar took it from the boy Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh "Tis some poor fellow's skull,' said he, 'Who fell in the great victory.
Страница 17 - But everybody said," quoth he, "that 'twas a famous victory. My father lived at Blenheim then, yon little stream hard by; they burnt his dwelling to the ground, and he was forced to fly: so with his wife and child he fled, nor had he where to rest his head.
Страница 15 - IT was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done; And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun, And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round...
Страница 74 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Страница 67 - RECONCILIATION WORD over all, beautiful as the sky, Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time be utterly lost, That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world; For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead, I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin— I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.
Страница 17 - And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win." " But what good came of it at last ? " Quoth little Peterkin. " Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
Страница 13 - CROMWELL, our chief of men, who, through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd...
Страница 74 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom...
Страница 116 - The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, The rattling musketry, the clashing blade; And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, The diapason of the cannonade.

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