Sir Henry Newbolt

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

Sir Henry Newbolt Poems

1. A Sower 4/13/2010
2. Commemoration 4/13/2010
3. Felix Antonius 4/13/2010
4. Hymn 4/13/2010
5. In July 4/13/2010
6. Laudabunt Alii 4/13/2010
7. Minora Sidera 4/13/2010
8. Nel Mezzo Del Cammin 4/13/2010
9. Pereunt Et Imputantur 4/13/2010
10. Rondel - I 4/13/2010
11. Rondel - Ii 4/13/2010
12. San Stefano 4/13/2010
13. Peace 4/13/2010
14. Srahmandazi 4/13/2010
15. The Building Of The Temple 4/13/2010
16. The Echo 4/13/2010
17. The Grenadier's Good-Bye 4/13/2010
18. The Guides At Cabul 4/13/2010
19. The Only Son 4/13/2010
20. The Quarter-Gunner's Yarn 4/13/2010
21. The Sailing Of The Long-Ships 4/13/2010
22. The Sufi In The City 4/13/2010
23. When I Remember 4/13/2010
24. Victoria Regina 4/13/2010
25. The Last Word 4/13/2010
26. The Nile 4/13/2010
27. The Gay Gordons 4/13/2010
28. Messmates 4/13/2010
29. Pereunt Et Imputantur 4/13/2010
30. April On Waggon Hill 4/13/2010
31. The Old And Bold 4/13/2010
32. A Song Of Exmoor 4/13/2010
33. Ionicus 1/3/2003
34. For A Trafalgar Cenotaph 4/13/2010
35. Hope The Hornblower 4/13/2010
36. Hawke 4/13/2010
37. Seringapatam 4/13/2010
38. On Spion Kop 4/13/2010
39. Moonset 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,
And England's ...

Read the full of Vitaï Lampada

The Toy Band

A Song of the Great Retreat

Dreary lay the long road, dreary lay the town,
Lights out and never a glint o' moon:
Weary lay the stragglers, half a thousand down,
Sad sighed the weary big Dragoon.
"Oh! if I'd a drum here to make them take the road again,
Oh! if I'd a fife to wheedle, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,

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