Sir Henry Newbolt

(1862 - 1938 / Bilston / England)

Sir Henry Newbolt Poems

41. Peace 4/13/2010
42. Pereunt Et Imputantur 4/13/2010
43. Pereunt Et Imputantur 4/13/2010
44. Rondel - I 4/13/2010
45. Rondel - Ii 4/13/2010
46. San Stefano 4/13/2010
47. Seringapatam 4/13/2010
48. Srahmandazi 4/13/2010
49. The Best School Of All 4/13/2010
50. The Bright Medusa 4/13/2010
51. The Building Of The Temple 4/13/2010
52. The Death Of Admiral Blake 4/13/2010
53. The Echo 4/13/2010
54. The Fighting Téméraire 1/3/2003
55. The Gay Gordons 4/13/2010
56. The Grenadier's Good-Bye 4/13/2010
57. The Guides At Cabul 4/13/2010
58. The King Of England 4/13/2010
59. The Last Word 4/13/2010
60. The Nightjar 3/16/2003
61. The Nile 4/13/2010
62. The Non-Combatant 4/13/2010
63. The Old And Bold 4/13/2010
64. The Old Superb 4/13/2010
65. The Only Son 4/13/2010
66. The Quarter-Gunner's Yarn 4/13/2010
67. The Sailing Of The Long-Ships 4/13/2010
68. The School At War 4/13/2010
69. The Schoolfellow 1/3/2003
70. The Sufi In The City 4/13/2010
71. The Toy Band 1/3/2003
72. The Vigil 4/13/2010
73. The Viking's Song 4/13/2010
74. The Volunteer 4/13/2010
75. The War Films 1/3/2003
76. Vae Victis 4/13/2010
77. Victoria Regina 4/13/2010
78. Vitaï Lampada 1/3/2003
79. Waggon Hill 4/13/2010
80. When I Remember 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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