Yahoo Search Búsqueda en la Web

Resultado de búsqueda

  1. Margaret Sackville was an aristocratic English writer who wrote poetry, novels and plays for both adults and children. Her output was considerable with over 40 titles to her name. At the beginning of the First World War she was active in the peace movement, joining the Union of Democratic Control to voice her opposition to the war.

  2. About the author Lady Margaret Sackville (1881–1963) was a poet, playwright and children’s author. At the age of sixteen, she was discovered by Wilfred Scawen Blunt, who helped her towards publication. After her first book, Floral Symphony, was published in 1900, she published over twenty volumes of poetry. Under the influence of Ramsay Macdonald, with whom

  3. Hace 6 días · Lady Margaret Sackville (1881-1963), Poet and children's writer; daughter of 7th Earl de la Warr. Sitter in 1 portrait

  4. Margaret Sackville was born in 1881, to the 7th Earl De La Warr. As a poet and children's author, she joined the anti-war, Union of Democratic Control in 1914. Her aunt and uncle, Muriel De La Warr and Herbrand Sackville, 9th Earl De La Warr, were as well involved in the peace movement. During the war she published a collection of poems entitled

  5. 16 de may. de 2024 · Was the daughter of (2) Sir William Boleyn and (3) Margaret Boleyn [Butler]. She was born c 1489 at Blickling, Norfolk. She married Sir John Sackville on 1512 at Sussex. He was the son of Sir Richard Sackville, Lord of Bergholt, Sackville and Buckhurst and Isabel Sackville [Diggs (Dyggs)]. He was born 17th Mar 1484; died 5th Oct 1557 at ...

  6. Nostra Culpa. Margaret Sackville. We knew, this thing at least we knew, – the worth. Of life: this was our secret learned at birth. We knew that Force the world has deified, How weak it is. We spoke not, so men died. Upon a world down-trampled, blood-defiled, Fearing that men should praise us less, we smiled.

  7. 12 de ene. de 2014 · Only behind a wall the low sobbing of women, The creaking of a door, a lost dog-nothing else. Silence which might be felt, no pity in the silence, Horrible, soft like blood, down all the blood-stained ways; In the middle of the street two corpses lie unburied, And a bayoneted woman stares in the market-place. Humble and ruined folk-for these no ...