Donald R. McClarey

Dulce et Decorum Est

“Dulce et decorum est” The bugle echoes shrill and sweet, But not of war it sings to-day. The road is rhythmic with the feet Of men-at-arms who come to pray. The roses blossom white and red On tombs where weary

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Donald R. McClarey

July 30, 1918: Joyce Kilmer Killed in Action

  I THINK that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms

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Donald R. McClarey

Rouge Bouquet

    In a wood they call the Rouge Bouquet There is a new-made grave to-day, Built by never a spade nor pick Yet covered with earth ten metres thick. There lie many fighting men, Dead in their youthful prime,

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Donald R. McClarey

Kipling Wouldn’t Have Been Surprised

  During five literary generations every enlightened person has despised him, and at the end of that time nine-tenths of those enlightened persons are forgotten and Kipling is in some sense still there. George Orwell, on Kipling      

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Donald R. McClarey

The Robe of Christ

THE ROBE OF CHRIST (For Cecil Chesterton) AT the foot of the Cross on Calvary Three soldiers sat and diced, And one of them was the Devil And he won the Robe of Christ. When the Devil comes in his

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Donald R. McClarey

Unmanifest Destiny

    TO what new fates, my country, far And unforeseen of foe or friend, Beneath what unexpected star Compelled to what unchosen end. Across the sea that knows no beach, The Admiral of Nations guides Thy blind obedient keels

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Donald R. McClarey

The Answer

A Rose, in tatters on the garden path, Cried out to God and murmured ‘gainst His Wrath, Because a sudden wind at twilight’s hush Had snapped her stem alone of all the bush. And God, Who hears both sun-dried dust

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Donald R. McClarey

The Children

“But who shall return us the children?” Rudyard Kipling The thirty-fourth in my on-going series on the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts in the series may be read here, here , here , here, here , here, here, here,

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The Choice

  The thirty-third in my on-going series on the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts in the series may be read here, here , here , here, here , here, here, here, here, here, here, here , here, here, here

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Quotes Suitable for Framing: James Russell Lowell

Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,— Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown, Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own. James Russell Lowell, The Present Crisis (1844)

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Eddi’s Service

  The thirty-second in my on-going series on the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts in the series may be read here, here , here , here, here , here, here, here, here, here, here, here , here, here, here

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Lepanto

I will be doing my usual post on Lepanto on October 7, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity today to post the above video.  Tom Kratman, who does a grand job reading Chesterton’s poem, is a science fiction author

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The Widow at Windsor

The thirty-first in my ongoing series examining the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts in the series may be read here, here , here , here, here , here, here, here, here, here, here, here , here, here, here

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Danegeld

  The thirtieth in my ongoing series examining the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts in the series may be read here, here , here , here, here , here, here, here, here, here, here, here , here, here,

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His Childhood Home He Saw Again

All of his life Abraham Lincoln enjoyed poetry and would occasionally compose poetry.  In the fall of 1844 he was campaigning for Henry Clay in Clay’s unsuccessful run for the Presidency in southern Indiana and visited the region where he

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The Ballad of the Goodly Fere

Ezra Pound, fascist, anti-Semite, traitor and loon, was still a great poet.  I have always admired this poem, not because of the way Christ is portrayed, but the imagination behind it.  Christ and the apostles transformed into quasi Viking heroes of a

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Hath Melted Like Snow In The Glance Of The Lord

    The Destruction of Sennacherib The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue

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Litany for Dictatorships

  The home raids on conservatives in Wisconsin, go here to read about them, brought this Stephen Vincent Benet poem that he wrote in 1935 to mind.  If more people do not stand up when government is run by gangsters this

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The Last Stand of the Black Horse Troop

Something for the weekend.  I Am a Rebel Soldier sung by Waylon Jennings.  Stephen Vincent Benet in his epic poem on the Civil War, John Brown’s Body, follows, in part of his poem, a Confederate Georia cavalry unit in the Army of

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Abraham Lincoln’s Ghost Walks at Midnight

Tragic is the only word to describe the life of Vachel Lindsay.  Perhaps the greatest of the poets of Illinois, he deserves his appellation the Prairie Troubador, his life was haunted by mental instability and money woes.  He committed suicide at

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Cities and Thrones and Powers

  Like flowery fields the nations stand Pleased with the morning light; The flowers beneath the mower’s hand Lie withering ere ‘tis night. Isaac Watts,  Our God, Our Help in Ages Past  The twenty-ninth in my ongoing series examining the

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Kipling for Labor Day

        The twenty-seventh in my ongoing series examining the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts in the series may be read here, here , here , here, here , here, here, here, here, here, here, here

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Tomlinson Our Contemporary

But because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold, not hot, I will begin to vomit thee out of my mouth. Revelations 3:16       The twenty-sixth in my ongoing series examining the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts

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Memoriae Positum

(Reposted from 2012.)  He leads for aye the advance,  Hope’s forlorn-hopes that plant the desperate good For nobler Earths and days of manlier mood; James Russell Lowell Memoriae Positum, memory laid down.  The Latin phrase is a good short hand description

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Boots

The twenty-fifth in my ongoing series examining the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts in the series may be read here, here , here , here, here , here, here, here, here, here, here, here , here, here, here

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Hail Liberty! Hail!

The twenty-fourth in my ongoing series examining the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts in the series may be read here, here , here , here, here , here, here, here, here, here, here, here , here, here, here

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The Men That Fought At Minden

  The twenty-third in my ongoing series examining the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts in the series may be read here, here , here , here, here , here, here, here, here, here, here, here , here, here,

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Of Centurions, Love and Kipling

  The twenty-first in my ongoing series examining the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts in the series may be read here, here , here , here, here , here, here, here, here, here, here, here , here, here,

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The Last of the Light Brigade

C’est magnifique, mais ce n’est pas la guerre!  (It is magnificent but it is not war!) Comment of French Mashal Pierre Bosquet on the charge of the light brigade The nineteenth in my ongoing series examining the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts

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The Muse Among the Motors

The eighteenth in my ongoing series examining the poetry of Rudyard Kipling. The other posts in the series may be read here, here , here , here, here , here, here, here, here, here, here, here , here, here, here

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High Flight

This seemed appropriate on a weekend when Neil Armstrong died.  The poem was written by 19 year old John Gillespie Magee, Jr. an American serving as a pilot with the RCAF in World War II in England, prior to the entry

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