Christopher Marlowe

(26 February 1564 - 30 May 1593 / Canterbury, England)

Our Conquering Swords - Poem by Christopher Marlowe

Our conquering swords shall marshall us the way
We use to march upon the slaughter'd foe,
Trampling their bowels with our horses' hoofs,
Brave horses bred on the white Tartarian hills.
My camp is like to Julius Caesar's host,
That never fought but had the victory;
Nor in Pharsalia was there such hot war
As these, my followers, willingly would have.
Legions of spirits, fleeting in the air,
Direct our bullets and our weapons' points,
And make your strokes to wound the senseless light;
And when she sees our bloody colours spread,
Then Victory begins to take her flight,
Resting herself upon my milk-white tent--
But come, my lords, to weapons let us fall;
The field is ours, the Turk, his wife, and all.


Comments about Our Conquering Swords by Christopher Marlowe

  • Gold Star - 26,918 Points Gangadharan Nair Pulingat (4/13/2014 9:44:00 AM)

    A sixteenth century poem and the theme relevance of the period but now in place of kings, swords, and entire warfare is changed. Still the poem is interesting. (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Thursday, May 5, 2011

Poem Edited: Thursday, May 5, 2011


[Hata Bildir]