Author: Sir Henry Newbolt

‘Ye have robb’d,’ said he, ‘ye have slaughter’d and made an end, Take your ill-got plunder, and bury the dead: […]

Our game was his but yesteryear; We wished him back; we could not know The self-same hour we missed him […]

Drake he’s in his hammock an’ a thousand miles away, (Capten, art tha sleepin’ there below?) Slung atween the round […]

I was out early to-day, spying about From the top of a haystack such a lovely morning And when I […]

O living pictures of the dead, O songs without a sound, O fellowship whose phantom tread Hallows a phantom ground […]

Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland, Down thy valleys green and sad, Still thy spirit wanders wailing, Wanders wailing, wanders mad. […]

We loved our nightjar, but she would not stay with us. We had found her lying as dead, but soft […]

A Song of the Great Retreat Dreary lay the long road, dreary lay the town, Lights out and never a […]

It was eight bells ringing, For the morning watch was done, And the gunner’s lads were singing As they polished […]

This is the Chapel: here, my son, Your father thought the thoughts of youth, And heard the words that one […]

It fell in the year of Mutiny, At darkest of the night, John Nicholson by Jalбndhar came, On his way […]

With failing feet and shoulders bowed Beneath the weight of happier days, He lagged among the heedless crowd, Or crept […]

There’s a breathless hush in the Close to-night Ten to make and the match to win A bumping pitch and […]