Sir Henry Newbolt: Все стихи поэта | Poetree

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Balade

Balade

(from the French of Wenceslas, Duke of Brabant and Luxembourg, who died in 1384.)

I cannot tell, of twain beneath this bond,

Which one in grief the other goes beyond,---

Narcissus, who to end the pain he bore

Died of the love that could not help him more;

Or I, that pine because I cannot see

The lady who is queen and love to me.

Nay--for Narcissus, in the forest pond

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by Sir Henry Newbolt

Felix Antonius

Felix Antonius

(After Martial)

To-day, my friend is seventy-five;

He tells his tale with no regret;

His brave old eyes are steadfast yet,

His heart the .lightest heart alive.

He sees behind him green and wide

The pathway of his pilgrim years;

He sees the shore, and dreadless hears

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by Sir Henry Newbolt

Gavotte

Gavotte

(Old French)

Memories long in music sleeping,

No more sleeping,

No more dumb;

Delicate phantoms softly creeping

Softly back from the old-world come.

Faintest odours around them straying,

Suddenly straying

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by Sir Henry Newbolt

A Sower

A Sower

With sanguine looks

And rolling walk

Among the rooks

He loved to stalk,

While on the land

With gusty laugh

From a full hand

He scattered chaff.

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by Sir Henry Newbolt

England

England

Praise thou with praise unending,

The Master of the Wine;

To all their portions sending

Himself he mingled thine:

The sea-born flush of morning,

The sea-born hush of night,

The East wind comfort scorning,

And the North wind driving right:

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by Sir Henry Newbolt

Commemoration

Commemoration

I sat by the granite pillar, and sunlight fell

Where the sunlight fell of old,

And the hour was the hour my heart remembered well,

And the sermon rolled and rolled

As it used to roll when the place was still unhaunted,

And the strangest tale in the world was still untold.

And I knew that of all this rushing of urgent sound

That I so clearly heard,

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by Sir Henry Newbolt

Imogen

Imogen

(A Lady of Tender Age)

Ladies, where were your bright eyes glancing,

Where were they glancing yester-night?

Saw ye Imogen dancing, dancing,

Imogen dancing all in white?

Laughed she not with a pure delight,

Laughed she not with a joy serene,

Stepped she not with a grace entrancing,

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by Sir Henry Newbolt

Among The Tombs

Among The Tombs

She is a lady fair and wise,

Her heart her counsel keeps,

And well she knows of time that flies

And tide that onward sweeps;

But still she sits with restless eyes

Where Memory sleeps---

Where Memory sleeps.

Ye that have heard the whispering dead

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by Sir Henry Newbolt

In July

In July

His beauty bore no token,

No sign our gladness shook;

With tender strength unbroken

The hand of Life he took:

But the summer flowers were falling,

Falling and fading away,

And mother birds were calling,

Crying and calling

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by Sir Henry Newbolt

By The Hearth-Stone

By The Hearth-Stone

By the hearth-stone

She sits alone,

The long night bearing:

With eyes that gleam

Into the dream

Of the firelight staring.

Low and more low

The dying glow

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by Sir Henry Newbolt

Admiral Death

Admiral Death

Boys, are ye calling a toast to-night?

(Hear what the sea-wind saith)

Fill for a bumper strong and bright,

And here's to Admiral Death!

He's sailed in a hundred builds o' boat,

He's fought in a thousand kinds o' coat,

He's the senior flag of all that float,

And his name's Admiral Death!

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by Sir Henry Newbolt

April On Waggon Hill

April On Waggon Hill

Lad, and can you rest now,

There beneath your hill!

Your hands are on your breast now,

But is your heart so still?

'Twas the right death to die, lad,

A gift without regret,

But unless truth's a lie, lad,

You dream of Devon yet.

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by Sir Henry Newbolt