Who is Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt (17 August 1840 – 10 September 1922), sometimes spelt Wilfred, was an English poet and writer. He and his wife Lady Anne Blunt travelled in the Middle East and were instrumental in preserving the Arabian horse bloodlines through their farm, the Crabbet Arabian Stud. He was best known for his poetry, which appeared in a collected edition in 1914, and also wrote political essays and polemics. He became additionally known for strongly anti-imperialist views that were still uncommon in his time.

Early life

Blunt was the son of Francis Scawen Blunt, of Crabbet, by his wife Mary Chandler. Blunt was born at Petworth House in Sussex, home of his aunt's husband Baron Leconfield. He served in the Diplomatic Service 1858–1869. He was raised in the fai...
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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Poems

  • The Old Squire
    I LIKE the hunting of the hare
    Better than that of the fox;
    I like the joyous morning air,
    And the crowing of the cocks. ...
  • Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: Xviii
    Alas, poor Queen of Beauty! In my heart
    I could weep for you and your sad graceless doom.
    You stand at my life's threshold in the part
    Of king's chief jester in the ante--room, ...
  • Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: Vi
    The Lyons fair! In truth it was a Heaven
    For idlers' eyes, a feast of curious things,
    Swings, roundabouts, and shows, the Champions Seven,
    Dramas of battles and the deaths of kings, ...
  • Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: Xxxv
    ``Silence. I will not listen!'' ``And for what?''
    She added strangely, in a softer mood.
    ``You see I am not angry. Do you not?
    Only soft--hearted, and alas! too good. ...
  • The Stealing Of The Mare - I
    In the name of God the Merciful, the Compassionate! He who narrateth this tale is Abu Obeyd, and he saith:
    When I took note and perceived that the souls of men were in pleasure to hear good stories, and that their ears were comforted and that they made good cheer in the listening, then called I to mind the tale of the Agheyli Jaber and his mare, and of all that befell him and his people. For this is a story of wonderful adventure and marvellous stratagems, and a tale which when one heareth he desireth to have it evermore in remembrance as a delight tasted once by him and not forgotten.
    And the telling of it is this:
    The Emir Abu Zeyd the Helali Salameh was sitting one morning in his tent with the Arabs of the Beni Helal and the Lords of the tribe. And lo, there appeared before them in the desert the figure of one wandering to and fro alone. And this was Ghanimeh. And the Emir Abu Zeyd said to his slave Abul Komsan, ``Go forth thou, and read me the errand of this fair Lady and bring me word again.'' And Abul Komsan went forth as he was bidden, and presently returned to them with a smiling countenance, and he said, ``O my Lord, there is the best of news for thee, for this is one that hath come a guest to thee, and she desireth something of thee, for fate hath oppressed her and troubles sore are on her head. And she hath told me all her story and the reason of her coming, and that it is from her great sorrow of mind; for she had once an husband, and his name was Dagher abul Jud, a great one of the Arabs. And to them was born a son named Amer ibn el Keram, and the boy's uncle's name was En Naaman. And when the father died, then the uncle possessed himself of all the inheritance, and he drove forth the widow from the tribe; and he hath kept the boy as a herder of his camels; and this for seven years. And Ghanimeh all that time was in longing for her son. But at the end of the seventh year she returned to seek the boy. Then Naaman struck her and drove her forth. And Amer, too, the boy, his nephew, is in trouble, for Naaman will not now yield to the boy that he should marry his daughter, though she was promised to him, and he hath betrothed her to another. And when Amer begged him for the girl (for the great ones of the tribe pitied the boy, and there had interceded for him fifty--and--five of the princes), he answered, `Nay, that may not be, not though in denying it I should taste of the cup of evil things. But, if he be truly desirous of the girl and would share all things with me in my good fortune, then let him bring me the mare of the Agheyli Jaber,--and the warriors be witness of my word thereto.' But when the men of the tribe heard this talk, they said to one another: `There is none able to do this thing but only Abu Zeyd.' And thus hath this lady come to thee. And I entreat thee, my lord, look into her business and do for her what is needful.'' ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Love 218 I Love You 218 Sonnet 125 Life 122 Soul 112 World 110 Heart 110 Night 85 Time 83 Face 77


Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Quotes

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Comments about Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Greebohobbes: wilfrid scawen blunt, by carlo pellegrini - vanity fair, 31 january 1885 he was an english poet and writer. he was best known for his poetry. he became additionally known for strongly anti-imperialist views that were still uncommon in his time.
100yearsagonews: sept. 10, 1922: wilfrid scawen blunt, english poet, diplomat and essayist, dies at 82. a fierce critic of british imperialism, he was jailed for leading protests demanding irish self-rule. blunt was also key to preserving then-threatened bloodlines of arab horses at his farm.
Icebergsmelting: white man's burden happy birthday wilfrid scawen blunt
Book_addict: happy birthday to english writer and poet wilfrid scawen blunt, (august 17, 1840), author of “gordon at khartoum“ (1883) et al.
Donaldh11469395: “ to-day, all day, i rode upon the down, with hounds and horsemen, a brave company. [ st. valentine’s day ]” wilfrid scawen blunt [ 1840- 1922 ]
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Poem of the day

William Butler Yeats Poem
The Valley Of The Black Pig
 by William Butler Yeats

The dews drop slowly and dreams gather: unknown spears
Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes,
And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries
Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears.
We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore,
The grey caim on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew,
Being weary of the world's empires, bow down to you.
Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.
...

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