Sir Henry Newbolt

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

Sir Henry Newbolt Poems

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

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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