Artemis Altera

    O full of candour and compassion,
    Whom love and worship both would praise,
    Love cannot frame nor worship fashion
    The image of your fearless ways!

    How show your noble brow's dark pallor,
    Your chivalrous casque of ebon hair,
    Your eyes' bright strength, your lips' soft valour,
    Your supple shoulders and hands that dare?

    Our souls when naïvely you examine,
    Your sword of innocence, flaming, huge,
    Sweeps over us, and there is famine
    Within the ports of subterfuge.

    You hate contempt and love not laughter;
    With your sharp spear of virgin will
    You harry the wicked strong; but after,
    O huntress who could never kill,

    Should they be trodden down or pierced,
    Swift, swift, you fly with burning cheek
    To place your beauty's shield reversed
    Above the vile defenceless weak!

John Collings Squire, Sir

John Collings Squire, also known as Sir John Squire, was an influential British poet, writer, historian, and influential literary editor of the early 20th century. He is best known for his role as editor of the London Mercury, a powerful literary journal of the time. Squire was a leading figure in the Georgian poetry movement, which sought to return English poetry to its traditional form and diction.

John Collings Squire, Sir

A Generation (1917)

John Collings Squire, Sir, Simple Poetry

Behind The Lines

John Collings Squire, Sir, Simple Poetry

Acacia Tree

John Collings Squire, Sir, Simple Poetry

Prologue: In Darkness

John Collings Squire, Sir, Simple Poetry

English

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Hadst thou liv'd in days of old,
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Oft of the hiding Oread wast thou seen
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A Memorial

    (F.T.)


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    Slipped, and the silken roof
    Lay prone beneath the viewless hoof
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    A golden paradisal air
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    Bright braids of words more wise and fair
    Than ever his earthly fabrics were,
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    Purged and regarbed in fadeless flesh,
    What he then darkly guessed behold,
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        Brother, yet great thy power;
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Ode to Liberty

(STROPHE)

Who shall awake the Spartan fife,
And call in solemn sounds to life
The youths, whose locks divinely spreading,
Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue,
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Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest,
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(What place so fit to seal a deed renown'd?)
Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing,
It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted wound!
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