Jessie Pope

Jessie Pope

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Jessie Pope (18 March 1868 – 14 December 1941) was a British poet, writer and journalist, who remains best known for her patriotic, motivational poems published during World War I. Wilfred Owen wrote his 1917 poem Dulce et Decorum est to Pope, whose literary reputation has faded into relative obscurity as those of war poets such as Owen and Siegfried Sassoon have grown.
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To A Taube

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VE the valley, rich and fair,
On flashing pinions, glittering, gay,
You hover in the upper air,
A bird of prey
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No!

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By bridge and battery, town and trench,
They're fighting with bull-dog pluck;
Not one, from Tommy to General French,
Is down upon his luck
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Socks

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Shining pins that dart and
In the fireside’s sheltered
Check the thoughts the cluster thick  - 20 plain and then decrease
He was brave – well, so was I –Keen and merry, but his
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The Call of the Congo

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I go as a rule At the coming of Yule,
To a place where the sunshine's obtrusive ;
At Hydros I'm found,
Where dyspeptics abound,
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The Knitting Song

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Sailor lad, on the sodden ground, Sailor lad on the seas,
Can't you hear a little clicketty sound Stealing across on the breeze
It's the knitting-needles singing their song As they twine the khaki or blue,
Thousands and thousands an...
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To the Clerk of the Weather

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Re:
AT
VE Dear Sir, we've had enough
Do you forget,
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Marching To Germany

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NG along together, lads ; we'll have a little song,
Kits won't be so heavy and the way won't be so long
We're goin' to cook " the Sossiges," to cook 'em hot and strong While we go marching to Germany
Chorus Hurrah, hurrah,...
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Loves Sacrifice

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When I asked my dear Edwin to shave I'd never a thought of denial;
He'd been such an absolute slave,
I put his devotion on trial
But his eye threw a sinister dart,
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Love in a Mist

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[The most noteworthy characteristic of a wet summer is the number of proposals made in the rain
] Beneath an Ilfracombe machine,
While thunderstorms were raging,
Strephon and Chloe found the scene Exceedingly engaging;
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Whos for the Game

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Who’s for the game, the biggest that’s played,
The red crashing game of a fight
Who’ll grip and tackle the job unafraid
And who thinks he’d rather sit tight
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The Blackest Lie

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(The Frankfurter Zeitung states that Belgium intrigued with England and France to drag Germany into
IG bully Belgium,
Breathing blood and flame,
Crafty as a serpent In a cunning game,
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The Nut’s Birthday

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When Gilbert’s birthday came last spring,
Oh
How our brains were
To try to find a single
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The Comet

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Last week we started out in glee,
The boys and Bertha,
Aunt and me,
Across the village green to see                 The comet;
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The Nut

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He used to get, when in civilian state,
His tea and shaving water, sharp, at eight
Then ten delicious minutes would be spent In one last snooze of exquisite content
That cosy nest, luxuriously sprung,
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Lights Out

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Darkness expectant, discreet Only a lamp here and there,
Gloom in the clattering street,
Stygian black in the square;
Dazzling fascias and fronts,
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De Wet

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Foe and friend and foe again,
Turning coat and turning yet,
That's a feat you don't disdain,
De Wet
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