Humbert Wolfe Poems

'There's someone at the door,' said gold candlestick:
'Let her in quick, let her in quick!'
'There is a small hand groping at the handle.
Why don't you turn it?' asked green candle.
...

Down some cold field in a world outspoken
the young men are walking together, slim and tall,
...

Like a small grey
coffee-pot,
sits the squirrel.
He is not
...

THE children play
at hide and seek
about the monument
to Speke.
...

Suddenly he sang across the trenches,
vivid in the fleeting hush
as a star-shell through the smashed black branches,
a more than English thrush.
...

You cannot hope to bribe or twist
(thank God!) the British journalist.
But, seeing what the man will do
unbribed, there's no occasion to.
...

I will not write a poem for you,
because a poem, even the loveliest,
can only do what words can do -
stir the air, and dwindle, and be at rest.
...

Give me the wings, magician! So their tune
Mix with the silver trumpets of the Moon,
And, beyond music mounting, clean outrun
...