Jessie Pope

(18 March 1868 - 14 December 1941 / Leicestershire, England)

Jessie Pope
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Jessie Pope was an English poet, writer and journalist, who remains best known for her patriotic motivational poems published during World War I. Wilfred OwenSiegfried Sassoon has grown.

Early Career

Born in Leicester, she was educated at North London Collegiate School. She was a regular contributor to Punch, The Daily Mail and The Daily Express, also writing for Vanity Fair, Pall Mall Magazine and the Windsor,

Prose Editor

A lesser-known literary contribution was Pope's discovery of Robert Noonan's novel The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, when his daughter mentioned the manuscript to her after his death. Pope recommended it to her publisher, ... more »

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Comments about Jessie Pope

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  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (12/1/2015 5:29:00 AM)

    something went lost in the presentation. Here is the full (opening) text:

    Jessie Pope (18 March 1868 – 14 December 1941) was an English poet, writer and journalist, who remains best known for her patriotic motivational poems published during World War I.

    Wilfred Owen directed his 1917 poem' Dulce et Decorum Est' at Pope, whose literary reputation has faded into relative obscurity as those of war poets such as Owen and Siegfried Sassoon have grown.

    [from Wiki]

  • Joseph El-khouri (4/22/2013 11:29:00 AM)

    Woah, bro. Do you even grammar?

  • Will Hammond (12/6/2012 8:06:00 AM)

    she is a good poet because she uses rhetorical questions and direct address which is a keen thing to do because it will grab there attenion (Who's For The Game?)

Read all 3 comments »
Best Poem of Jessie Pope

No!

By bridge and battery, town and trench,
They're fighting with bull-dog pluck;
Not one, from Tommy to General French,
Is down upon his luck.
There are some who stand and some who fall,
But how does the chorus go
That echoing chant in the hearts of all?
'Are we downhearted? NO!'
There's Jack, God bless him, upon the foam,
His isn't an easy task,
To strike for England, to strike right home,
So much, no more, does he ask.
On the dreadnought's deck where the big guns bark,
Or in quiet depths below
The salt wind wafts us a chantey. Hark !
'...

Read the full of No!

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