Thomas Salzano – Five Must Read Narrative Poem

Poetry is the rhythmic creation of your thoughts, feelings, and observation that you pen down to express with the world, says Thomas Salzano a great poet. It’s the type of poetry that defines your style, each poet has a unique style of expressing like Blank verse, rhymed, free verse, epics, narrative, haiku, pastoral, sonnet, elegies, ode, limerick, lyric, ballad, soliloquy, and villanelle are the famous type of poetic forms that poets follow.

Thomas Salzano - Read Narrative Poem

Among all the forms one of the most famous forms is “the narrative” which tells a story. This form has a full storyline with all the elements of the traditional story. The narrative poems include important elements like the main characters, conflict, plot, setting, resolution, and action. This type of poetry has a special set of audience and it need not follow a rhythmic pattern.

Here are some famous narrative poems and their poets clubbed by Thomas Salzano that you can read, enjoy and learn.

The Ballad of Agincourt by Michael Drayton

Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main,
At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train
Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnish’d in warlike sort,
Marcheth tow’rds Agincourt
In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopp’d his way,
Where the French gen’ral lay
With all his power.

Which, in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide
Unto him sending,
Which he neglects the while
As from a nation vile,
Ye with an angry smile
Their fall portending.

And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then,
‘Though they to one be ten
Be not amazed:
Yet have we well begun;
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun
By frame been raised.

‘And for myself (quoth he)
This my full rest shall be:
England ne’er mourn for me
Nor more esteem me:
Victor I will remain
Or on this earth lie slain,
Never shall she sustain
Loss to redeem me.

‘Poitiers and Cressy tell,
When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell:
No less our skill is
Than when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,
By many a warlike feat
Lopp’d the French lilies.’

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;
With the main Henry sped
Among his henchmen.
Excester had the rad the rear,
A brave man not there;
O Lord, how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!

They now to fight are gone,
Armour on armour shone,
Drum now to drum did groan,
To hear was wonder;
That with the cries they make
The wey earth did shake:
Trumpet  to trumpet sparke,
Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham,
Which didst the signal aim
To our hid forces!
When from a meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly,
The English archery
Stuck the French horses.

With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;
Nine from his fellow starts,
But, playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw,
And forth their bilbos drew,
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardy;
Arms were from shoulders sent,
Scalps to the teeth were rent,
Down the French peasants went-
Our men were hardy!

This while our noble king,
His broadsword brandishing,
Down the French host did ding,
As to o’erwhelm it;
And many a deep wound lent,
His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent
Bruised his helmet.

Gloucester, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stod
With his brave brother;
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Through but a maiden knight,
Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.

Warwick in blood did wade,
Oxford the foe invade,
And cruel slaughter made
Still as they ran up;
Suffolk his axe did ply,
Beaumont and Willoughby
Bare them right doughtily,
Ferrers ad Fanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin’s Day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay
To English to carry.
O, when shall English men
With such acts fill a pen;
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?

About Agincourt

The poems by Drayton seem to owe little directly to Shakespeare’s play. The poems narrate the story of the battle and the technological superiority of the English longbow.

We Are Seven by William Wordsworth

A simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her hrad.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
Her beauty made me glad.

“Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?”
How many? Seven in all,” she sais,
And wondering looked at me.

“And where are they? I pray you tell.”
She answered, “Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

“Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage,I
Dwell near them with my mother.”

“You say that two at Conway Dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be.”

Then did the little Maid reply,
“Seven boys and girl are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree.”

We Are Seven by William Wordsworth

“You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
They ye ate only five.”

“Their graves are green, they mab be seen,”
The little Maid replied,
“Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door,
And they are side by side.

“My stockings there I often Knit,
My Kerchief there I hem:
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

“And often after sun-set, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

“The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

“So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

“And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run ad slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side.”

“How many are you, them,” said I,
“If they two are in heaven?”
Quick was the little Maid’s reply,
“O Master! We are seven.”

“But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!”
‘Twas throwing words away’ for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, “Nay, we are seven!”

About the poem

The poem “ We Are Seven” tells the story of a man talking to a young girl about her family. This poem is the ultimate Wordsworthian poem.

The poem is written in ballad form, with a straightforward language and unpretentious language. The poem revolves around the questions about life and death.

Thomas Salzano feels that the above poems are the best examples of narrative poetry. Whereas, you will find a number of narrative poems based on battles, travel, culture, famous tail, etc, that are usually the part of theaters and plays. The narrative poems are generally long and interesting to read.