Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch

(21 November 1863 – 12 May 1944 / England)

Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch Poems

1. The Children In The Wood 1/6/2015
2. Three Men Of Truro 4/21/2010
3. The Doom Of The Esquire Bedell 4/21/2010
4. The Root 4/21/2010
5. The Sair Stroke 4/21/2010
6. Upon Graciosa, Walking And Talking 4/21/2010
7. Why This Volume Is So Thin 4/21/2010
8. Willaloo 4/21/2010
9. Titania 4/21/2010
10. To A Friend 4/21/2010
11. To A Friend Who Sent Me A Box Of Violets 4/21/2010
12. Twilight 4/21/2010
13. Two Duets 4/21/2010
14. Two Folk Songs 4/21/2010
15. Unity Put Quarterly 4/21/2010
16. Written Upon Love’s Frontier-Post 4/21/2010
17. In A College Garden 4/21/2010
18. Retrospection 4/21/2010
19. Solivitur Acris Hiemps 4/21/2010
20. An Oath 4/21/2010
21. Caliban Upon Rudiments Or Autoschediastic Theology In A Hole 4/21/2010
22. Upon Eckington Bridge, River Avon 4/21/2010
23. The Statues And The Tear 4/21/2010
24. Envoy 4/21/2010
25. The Splendid Spur 1/1/2004
26. The White Moth 1/1/2004
27. Tim The Dragoon 4/21/2010
28. Epilogue: To A Mother 4/21/2010
29. Exmoor Verses 4/21/2010
30. Coronation Hymn 4/21/2010
31. De Tea Fabula 4/21/2010
32. Behold! I Am Not One That Goes To Lectures… 4/21/2010
33. Jenifer's Love 4/21/2010
34. Almer Mater 4/21/2010
35. Lady Jane 4/21/2010
36. A Letter 4/21/2010
37. Chant Royal Of High Virtue 4/21/2010
38. Christmas Eve 4/21/2010
39. Fire! 4/21/2010
40. As I Laye A-Dreamynge 4/21/2010
Best Poem of Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch

Mary Leslie

O Mary Leslie, blithe and shrill
The bugles blew for Spain:
And you below the Castle Hill
Stood in the crowd your lane.
Then hearts were wild to watch us pass,
Yet laith to let us go!
While mine said, 'Fare-ye-well, my lass!'
And yours, 'God keep my Jo!'

Here by the bivouac fire, above
These fields of savage play,
I'll lift my love to meet thy love
Twa thousand miles away,

Where yonder, yonder by the stars,
Nightlong there rins a burn,
And maids with lovers at the wars
May list their wraiths' return.

More careless yet my spirit ...

Read the full of Mary Leslie

Almer Mater

Know you her secret none can utter?
Hers of the Book, the tripled Crown?
Still on the spire the pigeons flutter,
Still by the gateway flits the gown;
Still on the street, from corbel and gutter,
Faces of stone look down.

Faces of stone, and stonier faces—
Some from library windows wan

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