George Edward Woodberry
George Edward Woodberry Poems
|4.||America To England||4/22/2010|
|7.||From My Country||4/22/2010|
|11.||O, Inexpressible As Sweet||4/22/2010|
|12.||O, Struck Beneath The Laurel||4/22/2010|
|13.||On A Portrait Of Columbus||4/22/2010|
|14.||On The Italian Front Mcmxvi||4/22/2010|
|16.||So Slow To Die||4/22/2010|
|17.||Song Of Eros, In Agathon||4/22/2010|
|18.||Sonnets Written In The Fall Of 1914||4/22/2010|
|21.||The Rose Of Stars||4/22/2010|
|22.||When First I Saw Her||4/22/2010|
England, I stand on thy imperial ground,
Not all a stranger; as thy bugles blow,
I feel within my blood old battles flow --
The blood whose ancient founts in thee are found
Still surging dark against the Christian bound
Wide Islam presses; well its peoples know
Thy heights that watch them wandering below;
I think how Lucknow heard their gathering sound.
I turn, and meet the cruel, turbaned face.
England, 't is sweet to be so much thy son!
I feel the conqueror in my blood and race;
Last night Trafalgar awed me, and to-day
Where are the friends that I knew in my Maying,
In the days of my youth, in the first of my roaming?
We were dear; we were leal; O, far we went straying;
Now never a heart to my heart comes homing! --
Where is he now, the dark boy slender
Who taught me bare-back, stirrup and reins?
I loved him; he loved me; my beautiful, tender
Tamer of horses on grass-grown plains.