Poems Real and Ideal By George Barlow |
XIV. |
XVII. |
SONNET XVII.
THE GHOSTLY ARMIES. |
XIX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XLIV, XLV, XLVI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
XLVII. |
LI. |
LIV. |
LVII. |
LIX. |
IV. |
II. |
IV. |
VI. |
VII. |
I. |
II. |
XX. |
XXI. |
I. |
II. |
IX. |
XII. |
XXII. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
Poems Real and Ideal | ||
59
SONNET XVII. THE GHOSTLY ARMIES.
Over each city hangs a cloud of dead!—
Far more in number than our living faces
They fill with shadowy wings the crowded places,
By their old leaders gathered still and led.—
My eyes were opened. Lo! our parks were red
With troops that Wellington at Waterloo
Watched die before him:—Nelson I saw too,
And round him sailor-hosts in myriads sped.
Far more in number than our living faces
They fill with shadowy wings the crowded places,
By their old leaders gathered still and led.—
My eyes were opened. Lo! our parks were red
With troops that Wellington at Waterloo
Watched die before him:—Nelson I saw too,
And round him sailor-hosts in myriads sped.
And round fair Paris a great army stands:—
Paris is now besieged, and by an host
Outnumbering all the armies of live lands;
But every warrior is a bloodless ghost.
They mount guard o'er the Seine, these warrior-bands,
And dead Napoleon visits every post.
Paris is now besieged, and by an host
Outnumbering all the armies of live lands;
But every warrior is a bloodless ghost.
They mount guard o'er the Seine, these warrior-bands,
And dead Napoleon visits every post.
Poems Real and Ideal | ||