Modern British Poetry

English poetry -- 19th century; English poetry -- 20th century

For me, I do but bear within my hand
    (For sake of Him our Lord, now long forsaken)
    A simple bugle such as may awaken
    With one high morning note a drowsing man:
    That wheresoe'er within my motherland
    That sound may come, 'twill echo far and wide
    Like pipes of battle calling up a clan,
    Trumpeting men through beauty to God's side.




_T. P. Cameron Wilson_


"Tony" P. Cameron Wilson was born in South Devon in 1889 and was
educated at Exeter and Oxford. He wrote one novel besides several
articles under the pseudonym _Tipuca_, a euphonic combination of the
first three initials of his name.

When the war broke out he was a teacher in a school at Hindhead,
Surrey; and, after many months of gruelling conflict, he was given a
captaincy. He was killed in action by a machine-gun bullet March 23,
1918, at the age of 29.


SPORTSMEN IN PARADISE

    They left the fury of the fight,
      And they were very tired.
    The gates of Heaven were open quite,
      Unguarded and unwired.
    There was no sound of any gun,
      The land was still and green;
    Wide hills lay silent in the sun,
      Blue valleys slept between.

    They saw far-off a little wood
      Stand up against the sky.
    Knee-deep in grass a great tree stood;
      Some lazy cows went by ...
    There were some rooks sailed overhead,
      And once a church-bell pealed.
    "_God! but it's England_," someone said,
      "_And there's a cricket-field!_"




_W. J. Turner_


W. J. Turner was born in 1889 and, although little known until his
appearance in _Georgian Poetry 1916-17_, has written no few delicate
and fanciful poems. _The Hunter_ (1916) and _The Dark Wind_ (1918)
both contain many verses as moving and musical as his splendid lines
on "Death," a poem which is unfortunately too long to quote.


ROMANCE

    When I was but thirteen or so
      I went into a golden land,
    Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
      Took me by the hand.

    My father died, my brother too,
      They passed like fleeting dreams,
    I stood where Popocatapetl
      In the sunlight gleams.

    I dimly heard the master's voice
      And boys far-off at play,--
    Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
      Had stolen me away.

    I walked in a great golden dream
      To and fro from school--
    Shining Popocatapetl
      The dusty streets did rule.

    I walked home with a gold dark boy
      And never a word I'd say,
    Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
      Had taken my speech away.

    I gazed entranced upon his face
      Fairer than any flower--
    O shining Popocatapetl
      It was thy magic hour:

    The houses, people, traffic seemed
      Thin fading dreams by day;
    Chimborazo, Cotopaxi,
      They had stolen my soul away!




_Patrick MacGill_

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

General

Modern British Poetry

English poetry -- 19th century; English poetry -- 20th century

For me, I do but bear within my hand
    (For sake of Him our Lord, now long forsaken)
    A simple bugle such as may awaken
    With one high morning note a drowsing man:
    That wheresoe'er within my motherland
    That sound may come, 'twill echo far and wide
    Like pipes of battle calling up a clan,
    Trumpeting men through beauty to God's side.




_T. P. Cameron Wilson_


"Tony" P. Cameron Wilson was born in South Devon in 1889 and was
educated at Exeter and Oxford. He wrote one novel besides several
articles under the pseudonym _Tipuca_, a euphonic combination of the
first three initials of his name.

When the war broke out he was a teacher in a school at Hindhead,
Surrey; and, after many months of gruelling conflict, he was given a
captaincy. He was killed in action by a machine-gun bullet March 23,
1918, at the age of 29.


SPORTSMEN IN PARADISE

    They left the fury of the fight,
      And they were very tired.
    The gates of Heaven were open quite,
      Unguarded and unwired.
    There was no sound of any gun,
      The land was still and green;
    Wide hills lay silent in the sun,
      Blue valleys slept between.

    They saw far-off a little wood
      Stand up against the sky.
    Knee-deep in grass a great tree stood;
      Some lazy cows went by ...
    There were some rooks sailed overhead,
      And once a church-bell pealed.
    "_God! but it's England_," someone said,
      "_And there's a cricket-field!_"




_W. J. Turner_


W. J. Turner was born in 1889 and, although little known until his
appearance in _Georgian Poetry 1916-17_, has written no few delicate
and fanciful poems. _The Hunter_ (1916) and _The Dark Wind_ (1918)
both contain many verses as moving and musical as his splendid lines
on "Death," a poem which is unfortunately too long to quote.


ROMANCE

    When I was but thirteen or so
      I went into a golden land,
    Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
      Took me by the hand.

    My father died, my brother too,
      They passed like fleeting dreams,
    I stood where Popocatapetl
      In the sunlight gleams.

    I dimly heard the master's voice
      And boys far-off at play,--
    Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
      Had stolen me away.

    I walked in a great golden dream
      To and fro from school--
    Shining Popocatapetl
      The dusty streets did rule.

    I walked home with a gold dark boy
      And never a word I'd say,
    Chimborazo, Cotopaxi
      Had taken my speech away.

    I gazed entranced upon his face
      Fairer than any flower--
    O shining Popocatapetl
      It was thy magic hour:

    The houses, people, traffic seemed
      Thin fading dreams by day;
    Chimborazo, Cotopaxi,
      They had stolen my soul away!




_Patrick MacGill_

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Modern British Poetry

Modern British Poetry

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