English poem
Oft would he start in wild delirium
by George E. Merkley (1865–1904)
Oft would he start in wild delirium, And grasp with frenzied hand the fancied blade, As if he heard the regimental drum Sounding to arms; for dire Fever preyed Upon his young life’s blood, and oft betrayed That Death with dragon mouth stood yawning nigh, Eager to seize his prey, nor would be stayed By Art’s firm hand or Pity’s tear-dewed eye,
More by George E. Merkley
- No more o’er the days of my childhood I’ll ponder
- Now changed is this realm--all bliss has departed
- Now in the bright woodland the sweet birds are singing
- O thou pale moon, arrayed in sombre hues
- Oh! there are moments of our life a part
- Oh, Thou Hast Wept Long
- Once lightly I roamed o’er these green fields and meadows
- O’er Crag and O’er Dune