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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
BADMINTON, by ALFRED COMYNS LYALL Poet's Biography First Line: Hardly a shot from the gate we stormed Last Line: God smite their souls to the depths of hell.' Subject(s): Badminton | |||
Hardly a shot from the gate we stormed, Under the Moree battlement's shade; Close to the glacis our game was formed, There had the fight been, and there we played. Lightly the demoiselles tittered and leapt, Merrily capered the players all; North, was the garden where Nicholson slept, South, was the sweep of a battered wall. Near me a Musalman, civil and mild, Watched as the shuttlecocks rose and fell; And he said, as he counted his beads and smiled, 'God smite their souls to the depths of hell.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BADMINTON TO YOU by TOM SAVAGE MEDITATIONS OF A HINDU [OR, HINDOO] PRINCE [AND SKEPTIC] by ALFRED COMYNS LYALL THE IMPORTANCE OF GREEN by JAMES GALVIN AFTER THE BATTLE (OF AUGHRIM) by THOMAS MOORE ONCE I PASS'D THROUGH A POPULOUS CITY by WALT WHITMAN FAREWELL TO ARRAS by ADAM DE LA HALLE CALMNESS OF THE SUBLIME by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY MAIDS AND MUSHROOMS by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE EARL'S RETURN by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE END OF IT by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR ON THE CAUSE, CONSQUENCE AND CURE OF SPIRITUAL PRIDE by JOHN BYROM |
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