Jessie Pope

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

Jessie Pope Poems

1. To A Stout Shepherdess 5/5/2011
2. The Longest Odds 5/5/2011
3. The Two Goliaths 5/5/2011
4. A Valentine [from An Old Lover] 5/15/2012
5. The Comet 5/15/2012
6. A Vain Appeal 5/15/2012
7. Cobbers 5/15/2012
8. Ware Wire! 5/15/2012
9. The Clerk Of The Weather 5/15/2012
10. A Close Finish 5/15/2012
11. A Sore Point 5/15/2012
12. Coo-Ee 5/15/2012
13. The War Budget 5/5/2011
14. The Nut 5/5/2011
15. To A Taube 5/5/2011
16. A Muff 5/15/2012
17. An Anzac Cap 5/15/2012
18. Crumbs Of Comfort 5/15/2012
19. Three Jolly Huntsmen 5/5/2011
20. The Nut’s Birthday 8/31/2010
21. The Outpost 5/5/2011
22. Love's Sacrifice 5/15/2012
23. Love In A Mist 5/15/2012
24. The Zeppelin Armada 5/5/2011
25. Snowflakes 5/15/2012
26. An Anzac Poem 5/15/2012
27. The Niggers 5/15/2012
28. The Lads Of The Maple Leaf 8/31/2010
29. Anzac 5/15/2012
30. War Girls 8/31/2010
31. Captive Conquerors 5/5/2011
32. Loot! 5/5/2011
33. Motor Martyrdom 5/5/2011
34. A Royal Cracksman 5/5/2011
35. April Antidotes 5/5/2011
36. An Overlord 5/5/2011
37. A Cossack Charge 5/5/2011
38. The K A Boys 5/5/2011
39. De Wet 5/5/2011
40. A Humble Appeal 5/5/2011
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!

Who's For The Game?

Who’s for the game, the biggest that’s played,
The red crashing game of a fight?
Who’ll grip and tackle the job unafraid?
And who thinks he’d rather sit tight?
Who’ll toe the line for the signal to ‘Go!’?
Who’ll give his country a hand?
Who wants a turn to himself in the show?
And who wants a seat in the stand?
Who knows it won’t be a picnic – not much-

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