Belgian Poems |
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Belgian Poems; Chants Patriotiques Et Autres Poemes Emile Cammaerts,Tita Mme Cammaerts No preview available - 2016 |
Belgian Poems: Chants Patriotiques Et Autress Poèmes (Classic Reprint) Emile Cammaerts No preview available - 2016 |
Common terms and phrases
âme arbres aujourd'hui BODLEY HEAD bon ange bras breeze brise bruit BRUXELLES C'est Pâques calm chant chantent Chantons ciel Clinc clanc close to tears cœur cross Crown 8vo d'autres dance dansent deux Dieu Dis-moi dream Elle EMILE CAMMAERTS enfant et les eyes fait feuilles fleurs FORD MADOX HUEFFER grise haut heart Hosannah J'ai mis jamais jardin jaune et rouge Je souhaite jour l'eau L'encens L'Etoile l'herbe Là-bas larmes Laughter is close Le réveillons les ormes Liège light loin LONDRES lumière maison mort n'est neath night Noël Noir nuit bleue oiseaux Pall Mall Gazette petit pieds pipe Porteront-ils prière rêve rien rire Routrou sing SIR EDWARD ELGAR sleeps soldats soldiers soleil song sonnettes cristallines souhaite soul sous Star sweet SYDNEY TREMAYNE tender terre tête Thou Tis Easter tombe tout trees trois trot UCCLE vent VERNON HILL Viens voice vois bien voix me vient yeux
Popular passages
Page 19 - To the flag, the flag, my children, Hearken to your country's cry ! Never has it shone so splendid, Never has it flown so high ! Red for the flames in fury, Black, yellow and red — Black for the mourning ashes, Black, yellow and red — And yellow of gold, as we proudly hail The spirits of the dead ! To the flag, my sons ! Your country With her blessing "Forward
Page 17 - ED for the blood of soldiers, ••- ^ Black, yellow and red — Black for the tears of mothers, Black, yellow and red — And yellow for the light and flame Of the fields where the blood is shed! To the glorious flag, my children, Hark! the call your country gives, To the flag in serried order! He who dies for Belgium lives! Red for the purple of heroes, Black, yellow and red — Black for the veils of widows, Black, yellow and red — And yellow for the shining crown Of the victors who have bled...
Page 13 - Neath this bright autumn sun, And sing the joy of courage, When cowardice might be sweet. To the sound of the bugle, the sound of the drum, On the ruins of Aerschot, Dinant, and Termonde Dance Belgians, dance, And our glories sing — " Cammaert apologizes for the liberty of his rhythms in these words: "Ma lyre tinte d'une corde, mon vers cloche d'un pied.
Page 36 - Ixniely and desolate. Not a man, not a bird, not a dog, not a cat, Only a flight of crows along the railway line, The sound of our boots on the muddy road And, along the Yser, the twinkling fires. A low thatched cottage With doors and shutters closed, The roof torn by a shell, Standing out of the floods...
Page 37 - Not a man, not a cat, not a dog, not a soul, Only a flight of crows along the railway line, The sound of our boots on the muddy road, And, along the Yser, the twinkling fires.
Page 183 - All watch through the night And await the Sun's light. POEMS OF EMILE VERHAEREN. Translated by ALMA STRETTELL. With a Biographical Introduction by the translator and a Portrait of the author specially drawn for this edition by JOHN SARGENT, RA Crown 8vo. 3s 6d net. " Here, at last, is the book, to be read in an hour, but in that short tirne revealing Belgium as the sun breaking through mist, or as St.
Page 14 - Chantons, Belges, chantons, Même si les blessures saignent et si la voix se brise, Plus haut que la tourmente, plus fort que les canons...
Page 43 - Not a cry, not a sound, not a life, not a mouse, Only the stillness of the great graveyards, Only the crosses, — the crooked wooden crosses — On the wide lonely plain.
Page 112 - Fermées au mal, ouvertes au bien, Vos mains puissantes et douces Comme une branche sous la mousse. Je vois bien vos mains, Vos mains fidèles, Qui me montrent le chemin, Mais je ne vois pas vos ailes.
Page 41 - Each church will ope its door — Pervyse, Ypres and Nieuport — And with strong clanging bell Thunder the Germans' knell. " Then will our trowels ring — Dixmude and Ramscapelle — And shouts and laughter swell And busy pickaxe swing. " Our boats will glide along — Black tar and sea-gulls white — We'll hear the skylarks' song Above our rivers bright. " And then our graves will bloomDance, tomtits, on the sod — And then our graves will bloom Beneath the sun of God.