Sir Henry Newbolt

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

Sir Henry Newbolt Poems

1. Laudabunt Alii 4/13/2010
2. Peace 4/13/2010
3. Rondel - Ii 4/13/2010
4. The Sailing Of The Long-Ships 4/13/2010
5. The Sufi In The City 4/13/2010
6. The Echo 4/13/2010
7. The Grenadier's Good-Bye 4/13/2010
8. The Only Son 4/13/2010
9. The Quarter-Gunner's Yarn 4/13/2010
10. Rondel - I 4/13/2010
11. The Building Of The Temple 4/13/2010
12. Victoria Regina 4/13/2010
13. Minora Sidera 4/13/2010
14. Moonset 4/13/2010
15. The Last Word 4/13/2010
16. The Viking's Song 4/13/2010
17. Srahmandazi 4/13/2010
18. San Stefano 4/13/2010
19. Hymn 4/13/2010
20. Vae Victis 4/13/2010
21. The Old And Bold 4/13/2010
22. The Gay Gordons 4/13/2010
23. The Non-Combatant 4/13/2010
24. In July 4/13/2010
25. The Death Of Admiral Blake 4/13/2010
26. The School At War 4/13/2010
27. Nel Mezzo Del Cammin 4/13/2010
28. The Guides At Cabul 4/13/2010
29. The King Of England 4/13/2010
30. Pereunt Et Imputantur 4/13/2010
31. The Nile 4/13/2010
32. Messmates 4/13/2010
33. The Vigil 4/13/2010
34. Outward Bound 4/13/2010
35. When I Remember 4/13/2010
36. The Bright Medusa 4/13/2010
37. On Spion Kop 4/13/2010
38. Hope The Hornblower 4/13/2010
39. Master And Man 4/13/2010
40. The Volunteer 4/13/2010

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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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