Poems by Thomas William Hodgson Crosland

Sorted by title, showing title and first line

What tale is this which stirs a world of knaves
At five o'clock they ring a tinkly bell;
Lieutenant Keen was "great," and yet
A for Arab.
CHIDDEN still murmurs,
You who are still and white
We were all sore and broken and keen on sleep,
They have him in a cage
Out of the cloud that covers me
Lo, the Beast that rioteth,
A minx of seventeen, with rather fine
Upon the tinkling splintery battlements