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Hace 4 días · And Birds who love the twilight of the leaves, Let Jesus keep me joyful when I pray. For the big Bees that hum. And hide in bells of flowers; For the winding roads that come. To Evening 's holy door, May Jesus bring me grateful to his arms, And guard my innocence for evermore. Siegfried Sassoon.
Hace 2 días · Men jostle and climb to meet the bristling fire. Lines of grey, muttering faces, masked with fear, They leave their trenches, going over the top, While time ticks blank and busy on their wrists, And hope, with furtive eyes and grappling fists, Flounders in mud. O Jesu, make it stop! Siegfried Sassoon. Rate:
29 de jun. de 2024 · At The Cenotaph. I saw the Prince of Darkness, with his Staff, Standing bare-headed by the Cenotaph: Unostentatious and respectful, there. He stood, and offered up the following prayer. 'Make them forget, O Lord, what this Memorial. Means; their discredited ideas revive; Breed new belief that War is purgatorial.
6 de jul. de 2024 · Morning Express. Along the wind -swept platform, pinched and white, The travellers stand in pools of wintry light, Offering themselves to morn's long, slanting arrows. The train's due; porters trundle laden barrows. The train steams in, volleying resplendent clouds. Of sun -blown vapour.
19 de jun. de 2024 · Haunted. Evening was in the wood, louring with storm. A time of drought had sucked the weedy pool And baked the channels; birds had done with song. Thirst was a dream of fountains in the moon, Or willow- music blown across the water Leisurely sliding on by weir and mill. Uneasy was the man who wandered, brooding, His face a little whiter than ...
Hace 1 día · When life was a cobweb of stars for Beauty who came. In the whisper of leaves or a bird 's lone cry in the glen, On dawn -lit hills and horizons girdled with flame. I sought for the triumph that troubles the faces of men. With death in the terrible flickering gloom of the fight. I was cruel and fierce with despair; I was naked and bound;
Hace 2 días · To Victory. Banners of dawn and sundown after rain. Where the hueless wind passes and cries unseen. I am not sad; only I long for lustre. I am tired of the greys and browns and the leafless ash. Far from the angry guns that boom and flash. When the blithe wind laughs on the hills with uplifted voice.
