Humbert Wolfe CB CBE, was an Italian-born English poet, man of letters and civil servant, from a Jewish family background, his father being a German Jew (Martin Wolff) and his mother an Italian Jew (Consuela, née Terraccini).
He was one of the most popular authors of the 1920s. He is now remembered for his epigram:
You cannot hope
to bribe or twist,
thank God! the
But, seeing what
the man will do
no occasion to.
He was also a translator of Heinrich Heine, Edmond Fleg (1874-1963)and Eugene Heltai. A Christian convert, he remained very aware of his ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Humbert Wolfe Poems
Requiem: The Soldier
Down some cold field in a world outspoken the young men are walking together, slim and tall,
'There's someone at the door,' said gold candlestick: 'Let her in quick, let her in quick!' 'There is a small hand groping at the handle. Why don't you turn it?' asked green candle.
The Grey Squirrel
Like a small grey coffee-pot, sits the squirrel. He is not
Epigram: British Journalist
You cannot hope to bribe or twist (thank God!) the British journalist. But, seeing what the man will do unbribed, there's no occasion to.
A Thrush in the Trenches
Suddenly he sang across the trenches, vivid in the fleeting hush as a star-shell through the smashed black branches, a more than English thrush.
THE children play at hide and seek about the monument to Speke.
I will not write a poem for you, because a poem, even the loveliest, can only do what words can do - stir the air, and dwindle, and be at rest.
Comments about Humbert Wolfe
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Requiem: The Soldier
Down some cold field in a world outspoken
the young men are walking together, slim and tall,
and though they laugh to one another, silence is not broken;
there is no sound however clear they call.
They are speaking together of what they loved in vain here,
but the air is too thin to carry the things they say.
They were young and golden, but they came on pain here,
and their youth is age now, their gold is grey.
Yet their hearts are not changed, and they cry to one another,
'What have they done with the lives we laid aside?
Are they young with our ...