Jessie Pope poems

Jessie Pope(18 March 1868 - 14 December 1941 / Leicestershire, England)
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No!

- by Jessie Pope 20

By bridge and battery, town and trench,
They're fighting with bull-dog pluck;
Not one, from Tommy to General French,
Is down upon his luck.
There are some who stand and some who fall,
But how does the chorus go
That echoing chant in the hearts of all?
'Are we downhearted? NO!'
There's Jack, God bless him, upon the foam,
His isn't an easy task,
To strike for England, to strike right home,
So much, no more, does he ask.
On the dreadnought's deck where the big guns bark,
Or in quiet depths below
The salt wind wafts us a chantey. Hark !
' Are we downhearted ? NO !'

And what of the girl who is left behind,
And the wife who misses her mate ?
Oh, well, we've got our business to mind
Though it's only to watch and wait.
So we'll take what comes with a gallant heart
As we busily knit and sew,
Trying, God help us, to do our part,
' Are we downhearted ? NO !'

The Blackest Lie

- by Jessie Pope 15

Big bully Belgium,
Breathing blood and flame,
Crafty as a serpent
In a cunning game,
Sent a note to England,
Sent a note to France,
'Let us crush the Fatherland
While we have the chance!'

Poor little Germany,
Gentle land of peace,
Seeking the Millennium,
When armaments shall cease ;
Rather grieved than angry,
Called her sons to fight,
To protect their Fatherland,
As was only right.

Hurry with the whitewash,
Pour it out in streams !
Bleach the ravaged country,
Louvain, Antwerp, Rheims !
Belgium concocted war,
Thus deserves her fate !
That's the blackest Teuton lie
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