Great Poems of the World War

by William Dunseath Eaton

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

Above the broken walls the apple boughs, [181]
Absolute knowledge I have none, [86]
Across the sands by Mary’s well, [47]
Against the shabby house I pass each day, [111]
A little grimy-fingered girl, [43]
Archduke Francis Ferdinand, Austrian heir-apparent, [137]
A thousand whistles break the bonds of sleep, [198]
Athwart that land of bloss’ming vine, [65]
Black with the blackness of hell and despair, [196]
Bosun’s whistle piping, “Starboard watch is on”;, [18]
Boy in khaki, boy in blue, [82]
By all the glories of the day, [13]
By blazing homes, through forests torn, [70]
Click, click! how the needles go, [128]
Come! Says the drum, [67]
Come shake hands, my little peach blossom, [76]
Dear little flag in the window there, [154]
Down in the street, with a lilting swing, [108]
Down toward the deep-blue water, marching to throb of drum, [112]
“Do your bit!” How cheap and trite, [152]
’E’s a sportsman is our Padre, [36]
Far and near, high and clear, [106]
Flag of our Faith: lead on—, [40]
Float thou majestically, proudly, triumphantly, [153]
Franceline rose in the dawning gray, [139]
God, the Master Pilot, [68]
Gone is the spire that slept for centuries, [92]
Hail and farewell, [126]
Hail, banner of our holy faith, [45]
Hear the guns, hear the guns!, [134]
He profits most who serves us best!, [179]
Here in the long white ward I stand, [14]
Here’s to the Blue of the wind-swept North, [41]
He was a French Boy Scout—a little lad, [83]
He woke: the clank and racket of the train, [121]
His regiment came home today, [192]
Ho! Heimdal sounds the Gjallar-horn:, [21]
I can count my francs an’ santeems, [186]
I enlisted in the infantry last summer;, [141]
If I should die, think only this of me:, [102]
I have a conversation book; I brought it out from home, [19]
I have a rendezvous with Death, [99]
I hear the throbbing music down the lanes of Afric rain:, [42]
I knit, I knit, I pray, I pray, [185]
I never would ’ave done it if I’d known what it would be, [187]
In Flanders’ fields the poppies blow, [101]
In Flanders fields, where poppies blow, [195]
In this last hour, before the bugles blare, [120]
I saw the spires of Oxford, [114]
I sit down to write a poem of our fighting men’s renown, [169]
I stand on a peak at Verdun—a scarred, torn peak of hope and death, [167]
It is long since knighthood was in flower, [85]
It is portentous, and a thing of state, [144]
I tried to be a doughboy, but they said my feet were flat, [143]
It’s a high-falutin’ title they have handed us;, [44]
It’s Spring at home; I know the signs—, [123]
It was high midsummer and the sun was shining strong, [34]
It was only a little river; almost a brook;, [159]
It was thick with Prussian troopers, it was foul with German guns, [29]
I’ve heard a half a dozen times, [113]
I was an exile from my own country, [93]
I wonder what the trees will say, [118]
Just for a “scrap of paper,”, [24]
Leave me alone here, proudly, with my dead, [132]
Left! Left! Had a good girl when I Left! Left, [71]
Let us praise God for the Dead: the Dead who died in our cause, [119]
’Mid blinding rain this inky night, [74]
Mike Dillon was a doughboy, [61]
My heart is numb with sorrow;, [51]
My house that I so soon shall own, [110]
My name is Danny Bloomer and my age is eighty-three, [75]
My son, at last the fateful day has come, [87]
Never a Serbian flower shall bloom, [50]
No beauty could escape his loving eyes, [14]
No bugle is blown, no roll of drums, [86]
No Man’s Land is an eerie sight, [16]
Not with vain tears, when we’re beyond the sun, [102]
Now, Mr. Wall of Wall St., he built himself a yacht, [89]
O guns, fall silent till the dead men hear, [109]
Oh, Carranza sent a cable-(on the kaiser’s birthday) gram, [176]
Oh, Land of Ours, hear the song we make for you—, [161]
Oh, the General with his epaulets, leadin’ a parade;, [37]
Oh ye whose hearts are resonant, and ring to War’s romance, [146]
One star for all she had, [116]
On law and love and mercy, [178]
On the battlefields of Flanders men have blessed you in their pain, [69]
Orchard land! Orchard land!, [189]
Our little hour—how swift it flies—, [103]
Out here the dogs of war run loose, [184]
Out in that vague vast “somewhere” of The Line, [199]
Out of the night it leaped the seas, [191]
Outside the ancient city’s gate, [48]
Over thousands of miles, [53]
Pardon! he has no Engleesh, heem, [73]
Past the marching men, where the great road runs, [162]
Perched upon an office stool, neatly adding figures, [94]
Poppies in the wheat fields on the pleasant hills of France, [25]
Ribbons of white in the flag of our land, [105]
Saint Genevieve, whose sleepless watch, [20]
Say, pa! What is a service flag?, [158]
She stands alone beside the gate, [157]
She wasn’t much to brag about, she wasn’t much to see, [30]
Some day the fields of Flanders shall bloom in peace again, [129]
Somewhere is music from the linnets’ bills, [104]
Song of the west wind whispering—listen, [163]
Son o’ ol’ Miz McAuliffe, the widder o’ Box-Car Jack, [155]
Standin’ up here on the fire-step, [80]
Still breaks the Holy morn, to soothe the care, [117]
Straight thinking, Straight talking, [57]
Suddenly one day the last ill shall fall away, [151]
Summer comes and summer goes, [72]
Thank God, our liberating lance, [46]
The band is on the quarter-deck, the starry flag unfurled;, [166]
The Colonel has a job to do, [32]
The dull gray paint of war, [183]
The evening star a child espied, [81]
The herdman wandering by the lonely rills, [27]
The Kid has gone to the Colors, [23]
The Kings are dying! In blood and flame, [145]
The little home paper comes to me, [15]
The magpies in Picardy, [130]
The mist hangs low and quiet on a ragged line of hills, [182]
The nightingales of Flanders, [50]
The old flag is a-doin’ her very level best, [151]
The Old Gang on the Corner! What an arrant tribe they were, [64]
The outfield is a-creepin’ in to catch the kaiser’s pop, [177]
The rivers of France are ten score and twain, [79]
The sick man said: “I pray I shall not die, [133]
The soldier boys are marching, are marching past my door;, [78]
The star upon their service flag has changed to gleaming gold:, [17]
The sunny streets of Oxford, [115]
The war is over, over there, [197]
The wind today is full of ghosts with ghostly bugles blowing, [200]
There are some that go for love of a fight, [96]
There is a hill in England, [60]
There’s a military band that plays, on Sunday afternoons, [63]
There’s a rumble an’ a jumble an’ a humpin’ an’ a thud, [26]
There used to be a boy next door, [172]
There will be dreams again! The grass will spread, [171]
They dug no grave for our soldier lad, who fought and who died out there:, [136]
They knew they were fighting our war. As the months grew to years, [52]
They shall not pass, While Britain’s sons draw breath, [125]
They shall return when the wars are over, [179]
They’ve put us through our paces;, [69]
This is the song of the Plane—, [190]
Thou art no longer here, [90]
Through the dark night and the fury of battle, [84]
’Tis a green isle set in a silver water, [180]
Trotting the roan horse, [170]
Twenty years of the army, of drawing a sergeant’s pay, [38]
Unfurl the flag of Freedom, [98]
Up among the chimneys tall, [49]
Was there ever a game we did not share, [91]
We had forgotten You, or very nearly—, [55]
We never were made to be seen on parade, [66]
We often sit upon the porch on sultry August nights, [59]
West to the hills, the long, long trail that strikes, [123]
We whom the draft rejected, [160]
What are we fighting for, men of my race, [165]
When I return, let us be very still, [33]
When the shells are bursting round, [174]
Who was it, picked from civil life, [127]
Why do we love our flag? Ask why flowers love the sunshine, [173]
Within this nation-hallowed tomb, [202]
Write us your verse, oh, soldier, tell us the grim, red tale, [193]
Yes, back at home I used to drive a tram;, [97]
You’re a funny fellow, poilu, in your dinky little cap, [95]
You see that young kid lying there, [124]
“You’ve heard a good deal of the telephone wires”, [57]

Readings and Monologues à la Mode

By WALTER BEN HARE

THIRTY-TWO platform selections in prose and verse, ranging from humor to pathos, and affording an excellent repertoire for the versatile entertainer.

Contents.—Amateur Gum Chewer; American Eagle; Am I Your Vife? At the Soda Fountain; Betty at the Baseball Game; Billy Keeps a Secret; Black Blue-Grass Widow; Bridget’s Disappointments; Brudder Rastus’ Sermon on the World War; Cullud Lady at the Phone; Free Years Old; Glory Car; Hallowe’en Witch; High School Tact; How to Get Married; Humoresque; Kid’s Complaint; Lodge Goat; Men Who Died; Minnie at the Skating Rink; Mrs. Santa Claus; Newlyweds; Practisin’; Sin of Steve Audaine; S-m-i-l-e; Sonny Meets the Smiths; Traumerei; Turkey in the Straw; When I’m All Dressed Up; Willie, the Angelic Child.

Beautiful cloth binding, lettering and
design in two colors, attractive type.
Price, $1.25

T. S. Denison & Company, Publishers