Poets – Lord Byron

Lord Byron From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia “George Gordon Byron” and “Byron” redirect here. For the archaeologist, see George Byron Gordon (archaeologist). For other uses, see Byron (disambiguation). “George Gordon, Lord Byron” redirects here. Not to be confused with Lord George Gordon. The Right Honourable The Lord Byron FRS Portrait by Thomas Phillips, c. 1813 Born Read More …

Poets – Wilfred Owen

Poets Wilfred Owen Wilfred Owen From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia Wilfred Owen A plate from his 1920 Poems by Wilfred Owen, depicting him Born Wilfred Edward Salter Owen 18 March 1893 Oswestry, Shropshire, England Died 4 November 1918 (aged 25) Sambre–Oise Canal, France Genre War poetry Military career Service/branch British Army Years of service 1915–1918 Rank Lieutenant Read More …

Mandalay by Rudyard Kipling

Mandalay by Rudyard Kipling By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ eastward to the sea,There’s a Burma girl a-settin’, and I know she thinks o’ me;For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:“Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!”Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay:Can’t Read More …

Ode To Melancholy by John Keats

Ode To Melancholy by John Keats No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twistWolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissedBy nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;Make not your rosary of yew-berries,Nor let the beetle nor the death-moth beYour mournful Psyche, nor the downy owlA partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;For shade Read More …

Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen

Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned our backsAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep. Many had lost their bootsBut limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;Drunk with fatigue; deaf even Read More …

Ode To A Nightingale by John Keats

Ode To A Nightingale by John Keats 1. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains  My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains  One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,  But being too happy in thine happiness,—    That thou, light-winged Dryad of the Read More …