Sir Henry Newbolt

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

Sir Henry Newbolt Poems

41. Seringapatam 4/13/2010
42. Commemoration 4/13/2010
43. Pereunt Et Imputantur 4/13/2010
44. O Pulchritudo 4/13/2010
45. A Sower 4/13/2010
46. The Old Superb 4/13/2010
47. Felix Antonius 4/13/2010
48. Craven 4/13/2010
49. Imogen 4/13/2010
50. Yattendon 4/13/2010
51. The Best School Of All 4/13/2010
52. April On Waggon Hill 4/13/2010
53. Admiral Death 4/13/2010
54. Waggon Hill 4/13/2010
55. A Song Of Exmoor 4/13/2010
56. For A Trafalgar Cenotaph 4/13/2010
57. Hawke 4/13/2010
58. From Generation To Generation 4/13/2010
59. Gavotte 4/13/2010
60. The Toy Band 1/3/2003
61. By The Hearth-Stone 4/13/2010
62. Balade 4/13/2010
63. Ionicus 1/3/2003
64. Gillespie. 4/13/2010
65. Homeward Bound 4/13/2010
66. Admirals All 4/13/2010
67. Fidele's Grassy Tomb 4/13/2010
68. Among The Tombs 4/13/2010
69. Farewell 4/13/2010
70. The Schoolfellow 1/3/2003
71. England 4/13/2010
72. Ireland, Ireland 1/3/2003
73. The War Films 1/3/2003
74. A Letter From The Front 1/3/2003
75. A Ballad Of John Nicholson 1/3/2003
76. The Nightjar 3/16/2003
77. Clifton Chapel 1/3/2003
78. The Fighting Téméraire 1/3/2003
79. He Fell Among Thieves 1/3/2003
80. Drake's Drum 1/3/2003

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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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