Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch

(21 November 1863 – 12 May 1944 / England)

Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch Poems

1. The Splendid Spur 1/1/2004
2. The White Moth 1/1/2004
3. Behold! I Am Not One That Goes To Lectures… 4/21/2010
4. A Letter 4/21/2010
5. A Triolet 4/21/2010
6. Almer Mater 4/21/2010
7. An Oath 4/21/2010
8. Caliban Upon Rudiments Or Autoschediastic Theology In A Hole 4/21/2010
9. Chant Royal Of High Virtue 4/21/2010
10. Christmas Eve 4/21/2010
11. Coronation Hymn 4/21/2010
12. De Tea Fabula 4/21/2010
13. Envoy 4/21/2010
14. Epilogue: To A Mother 4/21/2010
15. Exmoor Verses 4/21/2010
16. Fire! 4/21/2010
17. Hesperus 4/21/2010
18. In A College Garden 4/21/2010
19. Jenifer's Love 4/21/2010
20. Lady Jane 4/21/2010
21. Nuptial Night 4/21/2010
22. Of Three Children 4/21/2010
23. Retrospection 4/21/2010
24. Solivitur Acris Hiemps 4/21/2010
25. The Doom Of The Esquire Bedell 4/21/2010
26. The Root 4/21/2010
27. The Sair Stroke 4/21/2010
28. Three Men Of Truro 4/21/2010
29. Tim The Dragoon 4/21/2010
30. Titania 4/21/2010
31. To A Friend 4/21/2010
32. To A Friend Who Sent Me A Box Of Violets 4/21/2010
33. Twilight 4/21/2010
34. Two Duets 4/21/2010
35. Two Folk Songs 4/21/2010
36. Unity Put Quarterly 4/21/2010
37. Upon Graciosa, Walking And Talking 4/21/2010
38. Why This Volume Is So Thin 4/21/2010
39. Willaloo 4/21/2010
40. Written Upon Love’s Frontier-Post 4/21/2010
Best Poem of Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch

The Statues And The Tear

All night a fountain pleads,
Telling her beads,
Her tinkling beads monotonous 'neath the moon;
And where she springs atween,
Two statues lean--
Two Kings, their marble beards with moonlight strewn.
Till hate had frozen speech,
Each hated each,
Hated and died, and went unto his place:
And still inveterate
They lean and hate
With glare of stone implacable, face to face.
One, who bade set them here
In stone austere,
To both was dear, and did not guess at all:
Yet with her new-wed lord
Walking the sward
Paused, and for two dead friends a tear let ...

Read the full of The Statues And The Tear

The Splendid Spur

NOT on the neck of prince or hound
Nor on a woman’s finger twin’d,
May gold from the deriding ground
Keep sacred that we sacred bind:
Only the heel
Of splendid steel
Shall stand secure on sliding fate,
When golden navies weep their freight.

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