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قراءة كتاب In Flanders Fields, and Other Poems

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‏اللغة: English
In Flanders Fields, and Other Poems

In Flanders Fields, and Other Poems

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 7

quick hail — and a light
          And I lurched o'er to leeward and saved her for spite
           From the doom that ye meted to me.

          I was sister to 'Terrible', seventy-four,
           (Yo ho! for the swing of the sea!)
          And ye sank her in fathoms a thousand or more
           (Alas! for the might of the sea!)
          Ye taunt me and sing me her fate for a sign!
          What harm can ye wreak more on me or on mine?
          Ho braggart!  I care not for boasting of thine —
           A fig for the wrath of the sea!

          Some night to the lee of the land I shall steal,
           (Heigh-ho to be home from the sea!)
          No pilot but Death at the rudderless wheel,
           (None knoweth the harbor as he!)
          To lie where the slow tide creeps hither and fro
          And the shifting sand laps me around, for I know
          That my gallant old crew are in Port long ago —
           For ever at peace with the sea!





Quebec

          1608-1908
          Of old, like Helen, guerdon of the strong —
           Like Helen fair, like Helen light of word, —
          "The spoils unto the conquerors belong.
           Who winneth me must win me by the sword."

          Grown old, like Helen, once the jealous prize
           That strong men battled for in savage hate,
          Can she look forth with unregretful eyes,
           Where sleep Montcalm and Wolfe beside her gate?





Then and Now

          Beneath her window in the fragrant night
           I half forget how truant years have flown
          Since I looked up to see her chamber-light,
           Or catch, perchance, her slender shadow thrown
          Upon the casement; but the nodding leaves
           Sweep lazily across the unlit pane,
          And to and fro beneath the shadowy eaves,
           Like restless birds, the breath of coming rain
          Creeps, lilac-laden, up the village street
           When all is still, as if the very trees
          Were listening for the coming of her feet
           That come no more; yet, lest I weep, the breeze
          Sings some forgotten song of those old years
          Until my heart grows far too glad for tears.





Unsolved

          Amid my books I lived the hurrying years,
           Disdaining kinship with my fellow man;
          Alike to me were human smiles and tears,
           I cared not whither Earth's great life-stream ran,
          Till as I knelt before my mouldered shrine,
           God made me look into a woman's eyes;
          And I, who thought all earthly wisdom mine,
           Knew in a moment that the eternal skies
          Were measured but in inches, to the quest
           That lay before me in that mystic gaze.
          "Surely I have been errant:  it is

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