#EnglishWriters
THOUGH three men dwell on Flann… To keep the lamp alight, As we steered under the lee, we ca… No glimmer through the night.” A passing ship at dawn had brought
They found her cold upon the bed. The cause of death, the doctor sai… Was nothing save the lack of bread… Her clothes were but a sorry rag That barely hid the nakedness
As a blue-necked mallard alighting… Among marsh-marigolds and splashin… Green leaves and yellow blooms, li… In bright, black mud, with clear d… Bringing keen savours of the sea a…
They ask me where I’ve been, And what I’ve done and seen. But what can I reply Who know it wasn’t I, But someone just like me,
Neck-deep in mud, He mowed and raved— He who had braved The field of bl… And as a lad Just out of school
We ate our breakfast lying on our… Because the shells were screeching… I bet a rasher to a loaf of bread That Hull United would beat Hali… When Jimmy Stainthorpe played ful…
“And will you cut a stone for him, To set above his head? And will you cut a stone for him— A stone for him?” she said. Three days before, a splintered ro…
AS I was marching in Flanders A ghost kept step with me— Kept step with me and chuckled And muttered ceaselessly: “Once I too marched in Flanders,
And since he rowed his father home… His hand has never touched an oar. All day he wanders on the shore, And hearkens to the swishing foam. Though blind from birth, he still…
Into the twilight of Trafalgar Sq… They pour from every quarter, bang… And tootling penny trumpets: to a… Of tin mouth-organs, while a sailo… A solitary banjo, lads and girls,
Black spars of driftwood burn to p… Sea-emeralds and sea-purples and s… And all the innumerable ever-chang… That haunt the changeless deeps bu… Flicker and spire in our enchanted…
“I cannot quite remember.... Ther… Dropt dead beside me in the trench… Whispered their dying messages to… Back from the trenches, more dead… Stone-deaf and dazed, and with a b…
As beneath the moon I walked, Dog-at-heel, my shadow stalked, Keeping ghostly company: And as we went gallantly Down the fell-road, dusty-white,
They gave him a shilling, They gave him a gun; And so he’s gone killing The Germans, my son. I dream of that shilling—
Indifferent, flippant, earnest, bu… The doctors sit in the glare of el… Watching the endless stream of nak… Bodies of men for whom their hasty… Means life or death maybe, or the…
