  Poetry
This week: Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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Ireland, Ireland
by Sir Henry Newbolt
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 Toy Band
by Sir Henry Newbolt
A Song of the Great Retreat
Dreary lay the long road, dreary lay the town,
Lights out and never a glint o' moon:
Weary lay the stragglers, half a thousand down,
Sad sighed the weary big Dragoon.
"Oh! if I'd a drum here to make them take the road again,
Oh! if I'd a fife to wheedle, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!
"Hey, but here's a toy shop, here's a drum for me,
Penny whistles too to play the tune!
Half a thousand dead men soon shall hear and see
We're a band!" said the weary big Dragoon.
Rubadub! Rubadub! Wake and take the road again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!"
Cheerly goes the dark road, cheerly goes the night,
Cheerly goes the blood to keep the beat;
Half a thousand dead men marching on to fight
With a little penny drum to lift their feet.
Rubadub! Rubadub! Wake, and take the raod again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!
As long as there's an Englishman to ask a tale of me,
As long as I can tell the tale aright,
We'll not forget the penny whistle's wheedle-deedle-dee
And the big Dragoon a-beating down the night,
Rubadub! Rubadub! Wake and take the road again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife, and drum!
Rev. Henry Francis Newbolt and Emily Newbolt welcomed son Henry Newbolt to their family on June 6, 1862. The Newbolt family lived in Bilston, Staffordshire. His father died when Sir Henry was only 4 years-old. His family moved to Walsall shortly there after. Sir Henry went to Caistor Grammar School. He did very well in his studies and received a scholarship to Clifton College. At the college Sir Henry Newbolt became an editor for the schools magazine. He then went on to graduate from Oxford University. He was a lawyer and a poet. He practiced law from 1887 to 1899.
Sir Henry Newbolt married Margaret Duckworth in 1889. The two had only one child, a daughter named Celia. His first novel Taken from the Enemy, was published in 1892. Two years later, in 1897, he published a book of ballads Admirals All, The Island Race in was published in 1898. Fallowed by The Sailing of the Long-ship in 1902 and in 1904 Songs of the Sea. Then in 1914 Sir Henry Newbolt published a fantasy novel Aladore.
When World War 1 started Sir Henry Newbolt was recruited by Charles Masterman. He was in charge of communications and he was to help the public see that war was going favorable for them. Sir Henry was knighted in 1915. He then published to volumes of naval history of the war in the 1920’s. He was made a Companion of Honor in 1922.
Sir Henry Newbolt died on April 19, 1938 at the age of seventy-six.
The Nightjar
by Sir Henry Newbolt
We loved our nightjar, but she would not stay with us.
We had found her lying as dead, but soft and warm,
Under the apple tree beside the old thatched wall.
Two days we kept her in a basket by the fire,
Fed her, and thought she well might live – till suddenly
I the very moment of most confiding hope
She arised herself all tense, qivered and drooped and died.
Tears sprang into my eyes- why not? The heart of man
Soon sets itself to love a living companion,
The more so if by chance it asks some care of him.
And this one had the kind of loveliness that goes
Far deeper than the optic nerve- full fathom five
To the soul’socean cave, where Wonder and Reason
Tell their alternate dreams of how the world was made.
So wonderful she was-her wings the wings of night
But powdered here and therewith tiny golden clouds
And wave-line markings like sea-ripples on the sand.
O how I wish I might never forget that bird-
Never!
But even now, like all beauty of earth,
She is fading from me into the dusk of Time.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
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#1310912 by Not Available. |
This autumn I will not prevail
To walk the ivy-laden trail
Of yellow leaf and crimson vine –
Those sodden footprints are not mine.
In time these eyes will be denied
The beauty found at eventide,
When starlight twinkles in the deep
Of chilly winter’s bitter sleep.
I shan’t discern the river’s crest
Nor spy the red of robin’s breast
As he flits, spryly gathering
Brown twigs for nesting in the spring.
Nor will I slumber ’neath the sun
Long after summer chores are done,
With bluebells left to grow alone
In golden meadows newly mown.
But in my mind I still do stroll
Through copse and hollow, fen and knoll,
Four seasons lived in days divine –
These memories are always mine.
Honorable mention:
| | | Invalid Item
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#1313625 by Not Available. |
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Poetry: September 12, 2007 Issue [#1938]
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