Sir Henry Newbolt

(1862 - 1938 / Bilston / England)

Sir Henry Newbolt Poems

1. The Building Of The Temple 4/13/2010
2. The Echo 4/13/2010
3. The Sailing Of The Long-Ships 4/13/2010
4. The Only Son 4/13/2010
5. The Quarter-Gunner's Yarn 4/13/2010
6. The Sufi In The City 4/13/2010
7. The Grenadier's Good-Bye 4/13/2010
8. The Last Word 4/13/2010
9. Rondel - Ii 4/13/2010
10. Laudabunt Alii 4/13/2010
11. Peace 4/13/2010
12. The Viking's Song 4/13/2010
13. The Gay Gordons 4/13/2010
14. The Old And Bold 4/13/2010
15. The Non-Combatant 4/13/2010
16. When I Remember 4/13/2010
17. The School At War 4/13/2010
18. The Death Of Admiral Blake 4/13/2010
19. Rondel - I 4/13/2010
20. Victoria Regina 4/13/2010
21. The Guides At Cabul 4/13/2010
22. Minora Sidera 4/13/2010
23. The Volunteer 4/13/2010
24. The King Of England 4/13/2010
25. The Nile 4/13/2010
26. The Vigil 4/13/2010
27. Moonset 4/13/2010
28. Hymn 4/13/2010
29. San Stefano 4/13/2010
30. Srahmandazi 4/13/2010
31. The Bright Medusa 4/13/2010
32. Vae Victis 4/13/2010
33. In July 4/13/2010
34. Nel Mezzo Del Cammin 4/13/2010
35. Pereunt Et Imputantur 4/13/2010
36. Messmates 4/13/2010
37. Outward Bound 4/13/2010
38. On Spion Kop 4/13/2010
39. Master And Man 4/13/2010
40. Hope The Hornblower 4/13/2010
Best Poem of Sir Henry Newbolt

Vitaï Lampada

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks, ...

Read the full of Vitaï Lampada

A Letter From The Front

I was out early to-day, spying about
From the top of a haystack -- such a lovely morning --
And when I mounted again to canter back
I saw across a field in the broad sunlight
A young Gunner Subaltern, stalking along
With a rook-rifle held at the read, and -- would you believe it? --
A domestic cat, soberly marching beside him.

So I laughed, and felt quite well disposed to the youngster,

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