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Home, Wounded

Wheel me into the sunshine,
Wheel me into the shadow,
There must be leaves on the woodbine,
Is the king-cup crowned in the meadow?

Wheel me down to the meadow,
Down to the little river,
In sun or in shadow
I shall not dazzle or shiver,...

Poet: Sydney Dobell
Erminia and the Wounded Tancred

From “Jerusalem Delivered”
From the Italian by Edward Fairfax
“THOUGH gone, though dead, I love thee still; behold
  Death wounds but kills not love: yet if thou live,
Sweet soul, still in his breast, my follies bold
  Ah pardon, love’s desires and stealth...

Poet: Torquato Tasso
Wounded to Death

          STEADY, boys, steady!
          Keep your arms ready,
God only knows whom we may meet here.
          Don’t let me be taken;
          I ’d rather awaken,
To-morrow, in—no matter where,
Than lie in that foul prison-hole—over there....

Poet: John Whitaker Watson
The wounded vulture

        A kingly vulture sat alone,

            Lord of the ruin round,

        Where Egypt's ancient monuments

            Upon the desert frowned.

 

        A hunter's eager eye had marked

            ...

Poet: