Sir Henry Newbolt

[Henry Newbolt] (1862 - 1938 / Bilston / England)

Sir Henry Newbolt Poems

1. The Building Of The Temple 4/13/2010
2. The Sailing Of The Long-Ships 4/13/2010
3. The Only Son 4/13/2010
4. The Quarter-Gunner's Yarn 4/13/2010
5. The Sufi In The City 4/13/2010
6. When I Remember 4/13/2010
7. The Echo 4/13/2010
8. The Grenadier's Good-Bye 4/13/2010
9. Rondel - Ii 4/13/2010
10. Laudabunt Alii 4/13/2010
11. Peace 4/13/2010
12. The Last Word 4/13/2010
13. The Viking's Song 4/13/2010
14. The Gay Gordons 4/13/2010
15. The Old And Bold 4/13/2010
16. The Non-Combatant 4/13/2010
17. The Death Of Admiral Blake 4/13/2010
18. The School At War 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. Yattendon 4/13/2010
38. Outward Bound 4/13/2010
39. On Spion Kop 4/13/2010
40. Master And Man 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

Drake's Drum

Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand miles away,
(Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)
Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay,
An' dreamin' arl the time O' Plymouth Hoe.
Yarnder lumes the Island, yarnder lie the ships,
Wi' sailor lads a-dancing' heel-an'-toe,
An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the night-tide dashin',
He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago.

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