Siegfried Sassoon
Dreamers
Soldiers are citizens of death’s gray land, Drawing no dividend from time’s to-morrows. In the great hour of destiny they stand, Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows. Soldiers are sworn to action;
Elegy
Your dextrous wit will haunt us long Wounding our grief with yesterday. Your laughter is a broken song; And death has found you, kind and gay. We may forget those transient things That made
Lamentations
I found him in the guard-room at the Base. From the blind darkness I had heard his crying And blundered in. With puzzled, patient face A sergeant watched him; it was no good trying
I Stood With the Dead
I Stood with the Dead, so forsaken and still: When dawn was grey I stood with the Dead. And my slow heart said, ‘You must kill, you must kill: ‘Soldier, soldier, morning is red’.
The Old Huntsman
I’ve never ceased to curse the day I signed A seven years’ bargain for the Golden Fleece. ‘Twas a bad deal all round; and dear enough It cost me, what with my daft management,
Before Day
Come in this hour to set my spirit free When earth is no more mine though night goes out, And stretching forth these arms I cannot be Lord of winged sunrise and dim Arcady:
Tree and Sky
Let my soul, a shining tree, Silver branches lift towards thee, Where on a hallowed winter’s night The clear-eyed angels may alight. And if there should be tempests in My spirit, let them surge
Alone
I’ve listened: and all the sounds I heard Were music,-wind, and stream, and bird. With youth who sang from hill to hill I’ve listened: my heart is hungry still. I’ve looked: the morning world
The Fathers
Snug at the club two fathers sat, Gross, goggle-eyed, and full of chat. One of them said: ‘My eldest lad Writes cheery letters from Bagdad. But Arthur’s getting all the fun At Arras with
The Dragon & The Undying
All night the flares go up; the Dragon sings And beats upon the dark with furious wings; And, stung to rage by his own darting fires, Reaches with grappling coils from town to town;
The Tombstone-Maker
He primmed his loose red mouth and leaned his head Against a sorrowing angel’s breast, and said: ‘You’d think so much bereavement would have made ‘Unusual big demands upon my trade. ‘The War comes
Wirers
‘Pass it along, the wiring party’s going out’- And yawning sentries mumble, ‘Wirers going out.’ Unravelling; twisting; hammering stakes with muffled thud, They toil with stealthy haste and anger in their blood. The Boche
Joy-Bells
Ring your sweet bells; but let them be farewells To the green-vista’d gladness of the past That changed us into soldiers; swing your bells To a joyful chime; but let it be the last.
Remorse
Lost in the swamp and welter of the pit, He flounders off the duck-boards; only he knows Each flash and spouting crash, each instant lit When gloom reveals the streaming rain. He goes Heavily,
Hero
‘Jack fell as he’d have wished,’ the Mother said, And folded up the letter that she’d read. ‘The Colonel writes so nicely.’ Something broke In the tired voice that quavered to a choke. She