Frederick William (FW) Harvey
Biography of Frederick William (FW) Harvey
Frederick William Harvey was an English poet, known for poems composed in prisoner-of-war camps at Krefeld and Gütersloh that were sent back to England, during World War I.
He was born in Hartpury, Gloucestershire. He was educated at the King's School, Gloucester, where he formed a close friendship with Ivor Gurney, and then at Rossall School. Gurney and Herbert Howells, another local composer, would set a number of his poems to music.
He started on a legal career, which would always be somewhat tentative. He became a Roman Catholic convert in 1914, and shortly after joined the Gloucestershire Regiment as a private soldier, as World War I broke out.
Serving in France, he was awarded the D. C. M. in 1915, and returned to England for officer training. He was captured behind the German lines in 1916, where he began to write more seriously.
He returned home in 1919, and married in 1921. He did not enjoy any sustained success as a writer, and never fully settled.
Frederick William (FW) Harvey's Works:
A Gloucestershire Lad At Home and Abroad (1916)
Gloucestershire Friends (1917)
Comrades in Captivity: a record of life in seven German prison camps (1920) (war memoirs)
September and Other Poems (1925)
In Pillowell Woods (1926)
This page is based on the copyrighted Wikipedia Frederick William (FW) Harvey; it is used under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. You may redistribute it, verbatim or modified, providing that you comply with the terms of the CC-BY-SA.
Frederick William (FW) Harvey Poems
(To E.M., Who drew them in Holzminden Prison) I
God dreamed a man; Then, having firmly shut Life like a precious metal in his fist Withdrew, His labour done. Thus did begin
I'm homesick for my hills again - My hills again! To see above the Severn plain, Unscabbarded against the sky,
No mortal comes to visit me to-day, Only the gay and early-rising Sun Who strolled in nonchalantly, just to say, ' Good morrow, and despair not, foolish one ! '
A man there was, a gentle soul, Of mild enquiring mind, Who came into this neighbourhood Its wonders for to find [ … ]
A Rondel Of Gloucestershire
Big glory mellowing on the mellowing hills, And in the Uttle valleys, thatch and dreams, Wrought by the manifold and vagrant wills Of sun and ripening rain and wind ; so gleams
The Oldest Inhabitant Hears Far Off The...
Sometimes 'tis far off, and sometimes 'tis nigh, Such drummerdery noises too they be ! 'Tis odd — oh, I do hope I baint to die Just as the summer months be coming on,
A Christmas Wish
I CAN NOT give you happiness : For wishes long have ceased to bring The Fortune which to page and king They brought in those good centuries,
Bodies of comrade soldiers gleaming white Within the mill-pool where you float and dive And lounge around part-clothed or naked quite; Beautiful shining forms of men alive,
Comrades of risk and rigour long ago Who have done battle under honour's name, Hoped (living or shot down) some meed of fime, And wooed bright Danger for a thrilling kiss, —
On Where's the use to write ? What can I tell you, dear ? Just that I want you so Who are not near.
Christmas In Prison
Outside, white snow And freezing mire. The heart of the house Is a blazing fire !
What We Think Of
Walking round our cages like the lions at the Zoo, We think of things that we have done, and things we mean to do : Of girls we left behind us, of letters that are due,
To You, Unsung
How should I sing you ? — you who dwell unseen Within the darkest chamber of my heart. What picturesque and inward-turning art Could shadow forth the image of my queen.
I'm homesick for my hills again -
My hills again!
To see above the Severn plain,
Unscabbarded against the sky,
The blue high blade of Cotswold lie;
The giant clouds go royally
By jagged Malvern with a train
Of shadows. Where the land is low
Like a huge imprisoning O