God! How I Hate You! (Arthur Graeme West Poems)
God! How I hate you, you young cheerful men,Whose pious poetry blossoms on your gravesAs soon as you are in ...
God! How I hate you, you young cheerful men,Whose pious poetry blossoms on your gravesAs soon as you are in ...
Before my window, in days of winter hoarHuddled a mournful wood:Smooth pillars of beech, domed chestnut, sycamore,In stony sleep they ...
When I the memory repeatOf the heroic actions great,Which, in contempt of pain and death,Were done by men who drew ...
There is too much of sighing, and weaving Of pitiful tales of despair.There is too much of wailing and ...
The wild sea-armies led by the wind Are following in our wake,White-crested shouting millions moving on. They have broken ...
Light on the towns and cities, and peace for evermore! The Big Five met in the world's light as many ...
Butcher the evil millionaire, peasant, And leave him stinking in the square. Torture the chancellor. Leave the ambassador Strung by ...
The Word came down to Dives in Torment where he lay: "Our World is full of wickedness, My Children maim ...
Read here: This is the story of Evarra -- man -- Maker of Gods in lands beyond the sea. Because ...
Dim, as the borrow'd beams of moon and stars To lonely, weary, wand'ring travellers, Is reason to the soul; and ...
"Lights out" along the land, "Lights out" upon the sea. The night must put her hiding hand O'er peaceful towns ...
New England. 1 Alas, dear Mother, fairest Queen and best, 2 With honour, wealth, and peace happy and blest, 3 ...
(In memoriam C. T. W. Sometime trooper of the Royal Horse Guards obiit H.M. prison, Reading, Berkshire July 7, 1896) ...
From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale, Whom Arthur and his knighthood called ...
Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round, At Camelot, high above the ...
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills ...
What are thy gaines, O death, if one man ly Stretch'd in a bed of clay, whose charity Doth hereby ...
FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded A plaintful story from a sistering vale, My spirits to attend this ...
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few, And men of religion are scanty, On a road never cross'd ...
My Uncle Bill! My Uncle Bill! How doth my heart with anguish thrill! For he, our chief, our Robin Hood, ...
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few, And men of religion are scanty, On a road never cross'd ...
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