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POETRY ANTHOLOGY

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by

Charlie Botterell

on 28 January 2014

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Transcript of POETRY ANTHOLOGY

The giant robot fought and destruction it wrought so not one survived it's wrath, it even did the math. But our hero bob was ready for the job with his mob of frogs coughing up blobs of hogs, bob and his mob of frogs shot blobs of hogs at the giant robot who fought and wrought.
BOB

There is the central powers they started the war in hours but from the start their chances were dour. One of the armies were german whose capital is Berlin. In eastern Europe the countries weren't poor, nope. At least not 'till the middle of the war, then they wished they were the same as before. Also in the middle of the war the u.s. stopped being such a bore, then the president started to bellow and the country stopped being so mellow. They soon joined the war and helped bring down the central powers who started the war in hours.
The central powers
Epics are blood pounding.
An example is the Iliad.
The skill in it is astounding.
They aren't written on a paper pad
and the skill in them is dumbfounding.
A long time ago they were quite a fad
And the heroes were always the last man standing.
There were always adventures to be had.
The hero had glory never fading.
They always had more than one comrade.
Their resourcefulness was vast and the monsters were cunning.
At the end they could barely stand.


Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main,
At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train
Landed King Harry.



And taking many a fort,
Furnish'd in warlike sort,
Marcheth tow'rds Agincourt
In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopp'd his way,
Where the French gen'ral lay
With all his power.



Which, in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide
Unto him sending;
Which he neglects the while
As from a nation vile,
Yet with an angry smile
Their fall portending.



And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then,
'Though they to one be ten
Be not amazed:
Yet have we well begun;
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun
By fame been raised.



'And for myself (quoth he)
This my full rest shall be:
England ne'er mourn for me
Nor more esteem me:
Victor I will remain
Or on this earth lie slain,
Never shall she sustain
Loss to redeem me.



'Poitiers and Cressy tell,
When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell:
No less our skill is
Than when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,
By many a warlike feat
Lopp'd the French lilies.'



The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;
With the main Henry sped
Among his henchmen.
Excester had the rear,
A braver man not there;
O Lord, how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!



They now to fight are gone,
Armour on armour shone,
Drum now to drum did groan,
To hear was wonder;
That with the cries they make
The very earth did shake:
Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.



Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham,
Which didst the signal aim
To our hid forces!
When from a meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly
The English archery
Stuck the French horses.



With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts
Stuck close together.



When down their bows they threw,
And forth their bilbos drew,
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardy;
Arms were from shoulders sent,
Scalps to the teeth were rent,
Down the French peasants went--
Our men were hardy.



This while our noble king,
His broadsword brandishing,
Down the French host did ding
As to o'erwhelm it;
And many a deep wound lent,
His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent
Bruised his helmet.



Gloster, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood
With his brave brother;
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Though but a maiden knight,
Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.



Warwick in blood did wade,
Oxford the foe invade,
And cruel slaughter made
Still as they ran up;
Suffolk his axe did ply,
Beaumont and Willoughby
Bare them right doughtily,
Ferrers and Fanhope.



Upon Saint Crispin's Day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay
To England to carry.
O when shall English men
With such acts fill a pen?
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?

Read more at http://www.blackcatpoems.com/d/agincourt.html#LJqHACPvZggEhPAe.99
agincourt
It was not the worst of mighty weapons
which hrothgar offered for his need:
hrunting they named the hilted sword.
Of old time heirlooms it was easily best;
iron was its edge all etched with poison,
and with battle-blood hardened.
Never had it faltered at a fight
in the hero's hand that held it.
Not the first time, this, that it
was destined for a daring task...

With a mighty stroke he swung the sword,
and that seemly blade sang on her head
its war-song wild. But the warrior found
the light-of-battle loath to bite.
Its hard edge failed the noble at his time of need:
The first time, this, fo the gleaming blade
that its glory fell....

Amid the battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant,
old-sword of giants, with edge inpenetreble,
a warriors heirloom, a weapon as unmatched
as the monsters who had wrought it.
He seized the sword and so wrathfully smote...
that the blade peirced her flesh; she sank dead to the floor.
(a tiny fragment of) Beowulf
POETRY ANTHOLOGY:BATTLES
hi
o
Epics
hi
HI
Gil -galad
Gil-galad was an elven king.
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
the last whose realm was fair and free
between the mountains and the sea.
His sword was long , his lance was keen,
his shining helm afar was seen;
the countless stars of heavens field
were mirrored in his silver shield.
But long ago he rode away,
and where he dwelleth none can say;
for into darkness fell his star
in mordor where the shadows are.
jrr tolkien
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