Poems

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R. G. Badger, 1911 - 88 pages
 

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Page 28 - We have watched them to the last, Till the column disappears, In a mist of sudden tears. Loves and hates before unguessed Tremble in the troubled breast, Loves and hates and hopes and fears, Waking from the sleep of years, At our country's calling come, To the rolling of the drum : Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, Rika-tek tek tek Rika-tek tek tek Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek, So the night comes on apace, Settles on each solemn face, While we pray...
Page 12 - It is not life's brief tenure that I moan, Its many tears, its vanishing delights, Nor all the bitterness my heart hath known In the grim silences of wakeful nights. Nor doth my spirit in the battle quail, Dreaming of pleasure and inglorious ease ; My arm would answer mighty flail with flail, And try results with mortal destinies. But this my prayer, and this my one request : That when my wrestle with the foe is done, It be not said of me, " He did his best," — Not that alone, but let them add,...
Page 19 - Margery sighs with a vain regret, As slowly they fade from gold to gray, Till night has come, and the sun has set, And the clouds have drifted beyond the day. What are you dreaming, my little maid ? For yours are beautiful thoughts, I know ; What were the words that the wild wind said, And where, in the dark, did the cloud-ships go ? Come through the window and touch her hair, Wind of the vast and starry deep ! And tell her not of this old world's care, But kiss her softly and let her sleep. Columbia...
Page 51 - As a little child at play Blows upon a pipe of clay Bubbles, evanescent, bright, With their iridescent light, So I fling upon the wind Verses of the bubble kind. And my friend with eyes of blue Looks my dainty verses through, Pauses from his books awhile, With an intellectual smile; For my fancy seems as naught To this man of deeper thought. Still I plead as my excuse: "Even bubbles have their use. They are perfect while they live, And their short career may give, As they shimmer, and are flown,...
Page 28 - Rika tek, rika-tek, rika-tek ttk tek, Rika-tek tek tek, Rika-tek tek tek, Rika-tek, rika-tek, rika-tek tek tek. Now the marching men have passed : We have watched them to the last, Till the column disappears In a mist of sudden tears. Loves and hates before unguessed Tremble in the troubled breast : Loves and hates and hopes and fears, Waking from the sleep of years, At our country's calling come, To the rolling...
Page 51 - ... child at play Blows upon a pipe of clay Bubbles, evanescent, bright, With their iridescent light, So I fling upon the wind Verses of the bubble kind. And my friend with eyes of blue Looks my dainty verses through, Pauses from his books awhile, With an intellectual smile; For my fancy seems as naught To this man of deeper thought. Still I plead as my excuse: " Even bubbles- have their use. They are perfect while they live, And their short career may give, As they shimmer and are flown, Some suggestion...
Page 61 - The Song of Dead Cities,' which we quote, not only for its subject, but also as a specimen of the poet's artistic powers, which are considerable. 'I played a gay Italian air, And Venice swam into my soul With laughter of the young and fair, And swinging barcarolle. 'But presently my song grew mute, For beat on beat I heard arise, The silvery note of harp and flute Beneath Italian skies. 'But all the streets that round me spread, With cosmic voices like the sea, Gave back the dirges of the dead That...
Page 27 - ... felt as though we had been breathing for an instant a whiff of pure air, or drinking a draught of clear, cool water from an untainted spring. Marcel Prévost, translated by HT Peck.
Page 11 - ... Fortune turn and smite, And her lash was the lash of man's despite ; Yet when she deemed I would wince and cry, I thought of song and knew not why. Why does the bird in the darkening wood Sing of his faith that life is good, His little life of a summer's day, Dreaming that joy will live alway? Why does the sun return again, After the night of wind and rain? Why do I sing? Come, my harp, for my heart is glad. Full too oft have our songs been sad, Full too oft when the good sun shone I swept your...

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