Sydney Thompson Dobell (Сидней Томпсон Добелл)

Esse Et Posse

The groan of fallen Hosts; a torrid glare
Of cities; battle-cries of Right and Wrong
Where armies shout to rocking fleets that roar
On thundering oceans to the thundering shore,
And high o'er all-long, long prolonged, along
The moaning caverns of the plaining air,-
The cry of conscious Fate. The firmament
Waves from above me like a tattered flag;
And as a soldier in his lowly tent
Looks up when a shot strikes the helpless rag
From o'er him, and beholds the canopy
Of Heaven, so, sudden to my startled eye,
The Heavens that shall be! The dream fades. I stand
Among the mourners of a mourning land. 

1. The Harps of Heaven
2. Mentana
3. To the Authoress of
4. Home, Wounded
5. He Is Safe

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1892

Последние стихотворения

To English version