Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
Wilfred Wilson Gibson (1878-1962), a close friend of Rupert Brooke and a protégé of Edward Marsh, was born in Hexham, England in 1878.
Gibson worked for a time as a social worker in London's East End. He published his first verse in 1902, Mountain Lovers. He had several poems included in various Georgian poetry collections prior to the war. He also wrote a play, Daily Bread, which was produced in 1910.
After the outbreak of war, Gibson served as a private in the infantry on the Western Front. It was therefore from the perspective of the ordinary soldier that Gibson wrote his war poetry.
His active service was brief, but his poetry belies his lack of ... more »
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Wilfrid Wilson Gibson Poems
"And will you cut a stone for him, To set above his head? And will you cut a stone for him-- A stone for him?" she said.
So long had I travelled the lonely road, Though, now and again, a wayfairing friend Walked shoulder to shoulder, and lightened the load, I often would think to myself as I strode,
The Blind Rower
And since he rowed his father home, His hand has never touched an oar. All day he wanders on the shore, And hearkens to the swishing foam.
The Dancing Seal
When we were building Skua Light-- The first men who had lived a night Upon that deep-sea Isle-- As soon as chisel touched the stone,
The biggest crane on earth, it lifts Two hundred ton more easily Than I can lift my heavy head: And when it swings, the whole world shifts,
A HANDFUL of cherries She gave me in passing, The wizened old woman,
The Lonely Road
The Lonely Road So long had I travelled the lonely road, Though, now and again, a wayfairing friend
"I cannot quite remember.... There were five Dropt dead beside me in the trench—and three Whispered their dying messages to me...."
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
"And will you cut a stone for him,
To set above his head?
And will you cut a stone for him--
A stone for him?" she said.
Three days before, a splintered rock
Had struck her lover dead--
Had struck him in the quarry dead,
Where, careless of a warning call,
He loitered, while the shot was fired--
A lively stripling, brave and tall,
And sure of all his heart desired . . .
A flash, a shock,
A rumbling fall . . .
And, broken 'neath the broken rock,
A lifeless heap, with face of clay,
And still as any stone he lay,
With eyes that saw...