Sir Henry Newbolt

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

Sir Henry Newbolt Poems

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