Sir Henry Newbolt

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

Sir Henry Newbolt Poems

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

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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