Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

(1840 - 1922 / England)

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Poems

161. Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter I 4/13/2010
162. Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter Iii 4/13/2010
163. Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter Iv 4/13/2010
164. Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter V 4/13/2010
165. He Makes An End 4/13/2010
166. Her Name Liberty 4/13/2010
167. Honour Dishonoured 4/13/2010
168. How Grey The World Was 4/13/2010
169. How Shall I Build 4/13/2010
170. I Will Smile No More 4/13/2010
171. If I Forget Thee 4/13/2010
172. If I Had Known You 4/13/2010
173. If We Had Met 4/13/2010
174. In Memoriam W.M & E.B.J. 4/13/2010
175. In The Night 4/13/2010
176. Ireland’s Vengeance 4/13/2010
177. Jacinths And Jessamines 4/13/2010
178. Jewelled Offering 4/13/2010
179. Laughter And Death 1/1/2004
180. Le Roi Est Mort. Vive Le Roi! 4/13/2010
181. Lebid 4/13/2010
182. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity 4/13/2010
183. Lilac And Gold And Green 4/13/2010
184. Love After Sorrow 4/13/2010
185. Love In The Summer Hills 4/13/2010
186. Love Is Best 4/13/2010
187. Love Is Master Still 4/13/2010
188. Love Me A Little 4/13/2010
189. Love Rides Disguised 4/13/2010
190. Love’s Likenings 4/13/2010
191. Many Are Called 4/13/2010
192. Mitigations 4/13/2010
193. Moonstruck 4/13/2010
194. My Only Title 4/13/2010
195. Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet I 4/13/2010
196. Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet Ii 4/13/2010
197. Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet Iii 4/13/2010
198. Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet Iv 4/13/2010
199. Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet Ix 4/13/2010
200. Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet V 4/13/2010
Best Poem of Wilfrid Scawen Blunt


SEVEN weeks of sea, and twice seven days of storm
Upon the huge Atlantic, and once more
We ride into still water and the calm
Of a sweet evening, screen'd by either shore
Of Spain and Barbary. Our toils are o'er,
Our exile is accomplish'd. Once again
We look on Europe, mistress as of yore
Of the fair earth and of the hearts of men.
   Ay, this is the famed rock which Hercules
And Goth and Moor bequeath'd us. At this door
England stands sentry. God! to hear the shrill
Sweet treble of her fifes upon the breeze,
And at the summons of ...

Read the full of Gibraltar

The Desolate City

DARK to me is the earth. Dark to me are the heavens.
   Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars?
Desolate are the streets. Desolate is the city.
   A city taken by storm, where none are left but the slain.

Sadly I rose at dawn, undid the latch of my shutters,
   Thinking to let in light, but I only let in love.
Birds in the boughs were awake; I listen'd to their chaunting;
   Each one sang to his love;

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