Cicely Fox Smith
Biography of Cicely Fox Smith
Born Feb 1st 1882
Died April 8th 1954
Cicely was born into a middle class family in Northern England during the later half of the reign of Queen Victoria. Her father was a lawyer and her grandfather was a clergyman. A typical female child of that era might have been expected to have a short education and then to settle down to life as a homemaker either for her family or her marriage partner. Thankfully that did not happen in Cicely's case.
Cicely Fox Smith Poems
The Silent Navy
Oh, it is not in the papers and we cannot always know Where to find the Silent Service whose address is 'G.P.O.' And to-day you can't be certain wh ...
The Oldest Thing In London
A thousand landmarks perish, A hundred streets grow strange; With all the dreams they cherish They go the ways of change;
Farewell To Anzac
Oh, hump your swag and leave, lads, the ships are in the bay - We've got our marching orders now, it's time to come away -
A Port Forsaken
She sent her five fighting ships once on a day To meet the bold Spaniard in battle array: And a King's son brought to her in days that are done
The Smell Of The Sea
I'd tramped the whole day long on the weary roads ashore, I was tired as a dog, and my heart was sick and sore,
A Stave At Parting
Good-night! the horn's faint music Through the twilight fades away: The cold night mists come creeping - O'er the fields we've ranged all day.
Down in the dyke of the ancient folk, Hard by the rampart crowned with oak, My foot sank deep in the drift of years,
To The South African Guild Of Loyal Wome...
When the thunder of the battle rolls no more, And the last bugles blow o'er the plain, They'll be many in old England mourning sore
In Animal House (by which title I call A dwelling whose true name is not that at all) There are dogs on the sofas and cats on the chairs;
Lovely is the white town, and smiling it lies With little green gardens underneath the blue skies,
The old apple-tree at the top of the orchard Lies flat On its back . . . It's been like that
Never a swallow wets his wing In Lavender Pond from Spring to Spring; Never a lily, pure and chill, Holds her cup for the dews to fill;
Little Gorilla, why do you look so sad? . . . Are you thinking about the glorious times that you had
A Cavalry Soldier
With loud talking and laughter, And a long, careless stride, He paces the crowded pathway, With head high in pride.
A Bird's Call
Over the upland fields, where free and strong
The fresh hill-breezes swept,
I heard a wild bird calling all day long,
Calling as if it wept.
And the wild voice brought back delights and tears
From time's forgotten hoard,
Cleaving the dead cold mist of bygone years
Like a two-edged sword.