Sir Henry Newbolt

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

Sir Henry Newbolt Poems

1. A Ballad Of John Nicholson 1/3/2003
2. A Letter From The Front 1/3/2003
3. A Song Of Exmoor 4/13/2010
4. A Sower 4/13/2010
5. Admiral Death 4/13/2010
6. Admirals All 4/13/2010
7. Among The Tombs 4/13/2010
8. April On Waggon Hill 4/13/2010
9. Balade 4/13/2010
10. By The Hearth-Stone 4/13/2010
11. Clifton Chapel 1/3/2003
12. Commemoration 4/13/2010
13. Craven 4/13/2010
14. Drake's Drum 1/3/2003
15. England 4/13/2010
16. Farewell 4/13/2010
17. Felix Antonius 4/13/2010
18. Fidele's Grassy Tomb 4/13/2010
19. For A Trafalgar Cenotaph 4/13/2010
20. From Generation To Generation 4/13/2010
21. Gavotte 4/13/2010
22. Gillespie. 4/13/2010
23. Hawke 4/13/2010
24. He Fell Among Thieves 1/3/2003
25. Homeward Bound 4/13/2010
26. Hope The Hornblower 4/13/2010
27. Hymn 4/13/2010
28. Imogen 4/13/2010
29. In July 4/13/2010
30. Ionicus 1/3/2003
31. Ireland, Ireland 1/3/2003
32. Laudabunt Alii 4/13/2010
33. Master And Man 4/13/2010
34. Messmates 4/13/2010
35. Minora Sidera 4/13/2010
36. Moonset 4/13/2010
37. Nel Mezzo Del Cammin 4/13/2010
38. O Pulchritudo 4/13/2010
39. On Spion Kop 4/13/2010
40. Outward Bound 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,

[Hata Bildir]