So men who fade in dust of warfare fade
Fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.
Like pearls which noble women wear
And, tarnishing, awhile confide
Unto the old salt sea to feed,
Many return more lustrous than they were.
But what of them buried profound,
Buried where we can no more find.
Who ( )
Lie dark for ever under abysmal war?
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(Being the philosophy of many Soldiers.)
Be careful; can’t shake hands now; never shall.Both arms have mutinied against me — brutes.My fingers fidget like ten idle brats.I tried to peg out soldierly — no use!One dies of war like any old disease.This bandage feels like pennies on my eyes.I have my medals? — Discs to make eyes close.My glorious ribbons? —…
All sounds have been as music to my listening:
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:Bugles that sadden all the evening air,And country bells clamouring their last appealsBefore [the] music of the evening prayer;Bridges, sonorous under carriage wheels.Gurgle of sluicing surge through hollow rocks,The gluttonous lapping of the waves on weeds,Whisper of grass; the myriad-tinkling flocks,The warbling…
1 Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade
3 Blue with all malice, like a madman’s flash;4 And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh.5 Lend him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-heads6 Which long to muzzle in the hearts of lads.7 Or give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth,8 Sharp with the sharpness of grief and death.9 For his teeth seem for laughing…
Suddenly night crushed out the day and hurled
Then fell a stillness such as harks appalledWhen far-gone dead return upon the world.There watched I for the Dead; but no ghost woke.Each one whom Life exiled I named and called.But they were all too far, or dumbed, or thralled,And never one fared back to me or spoke.Then peered the indefinite unshapen dawnWith vacant gloaming,…
1 Move him into the sun–
3 At home, whispering of fields unsown.4 Always it awoke him, even in France,5 Until this morning and this snow.6 If anything might rouse him now7 The kind old sun will know.8 Think how it wakes the seeds–9 Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.10 Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides11 Full-nerved,–still warm,–too hard…
A dismal fog-hoarse siren howls at dawn.
Backwards and forwards, helpless as a pawn.But I’m lazy, and his work’s crazy.Quick treble bells begin at nine o’clock,Scuttling the schoolboy pulling up his sock,Scaring the late girl in the inky frock.I must be crazy; I learn from the daisy.Stern bells annoy the rooks and doves at ten.I watch the verger close the doors, and…