war - Popular Poems and stories from category

Мальчик мой, беги отсюда, собирай пожитки и
куда глаза глядят! Эта ведьма погубила не мало
таких ребят. Не жалела ни умного, ни глупца; на
завтрак съедала слащавого наглеца, запивала
болью, одевалась в горе, сеела вездесущий

When a child,certain skies sharpened my vision:all their characters were reflected in my face
The Phenomena were roused
—At present,the eternal inflection of momentsand the infinity of mathematicsdrives me through this world whereI meet ...

To Ezra
These are the names of the companies that have made money from this warnineteenhundredsixtyeight Annodomini fourthousand eighty
These are the Corporations who have profited by merchan- dising skinburning phosphorous or shells fra...

The cold earth yields to the warm blood
The black soil incarnadined
Entangled in a rusty hue
Come morrow, the billows will rise

ST
HE
LY
It is considered low to talk about food

Oh, not the loss of the accomplished thing
Not dumb farewells, nor long relinquishment Of beauty had, and golden summer spent,
And savage glory of the fluttering Torn banners of the rain, and frosty ring Of moon-white winters, and the im...

Dear
of all happy in the hour, most blest He who has found our hid security, Assured in the dark tides of the world that rest, And heard our word, 'Who is so safe as we
' We have found safety with all things undying, The winds, and morni...

There was a king, now ageing,
With heart of lead, and head so grey
He took a wife, the old king,
A young wife too, men say

Memorial day for the war dead
Add nowthe grief of all your losses to their grief,even of a woman that has left you
Mixsorrow with sorrow, like time-saving history,which stacks holiday and sacrifice and mourningon one day for easy, conven...

GE waded through the weekly news, "The Income Tax, he said, "That's nowt to me,
I shallunt lose, 'Twill hit the boss instead
Lloyd George he be the man for I,
Us poor have nowt to fear

For a saving grace, we didn't see our dead,
Who rarely bothered coming home to die But simply stayed away out there In the clean war, the war in the air
Seldom the ghosts come back bearing their tales Of hitting the earth, the incompress...

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;