That changed us into soldiers; swing your bells
To a joyful chime; but let it be the last.
What means this metal in windy belfries hung
When guns are all our need? Dissolve these bells
Whose tones are tuned for peace: with martial tongue
Let them cry doom and storm the sun with shells.
Bells are like fierce-browed prelates who proclaim
That ‘if our Lord returned He’d fight for us.’
So let our bells and bishops do the same,
Shoulder to shoulder with the motor-bus.
Or with blackbirds in a green, sun-glinted thicket?Oh, I heard you like a tyrant in the valley;Your ruffian haste shook the young, blossoming orchards;You clapped rude hands, hallooing round the chimney,And white your pennons streamed along the river.You have robbed the bee, South Wind, in your adventure,Blustering with gentle flowers; but I forgave youWhen you…
Each flash and spouting crash,–each instant litWhen gloom reveals the streaming rain. He goesHeavily, blindly on. And, while he blunders,‘Could anything be worse than this?’–he wonders,Remembering how he saw those Germans run,Screaming for mercy among the stumps of trees:Green-faced, they dodged and darted: there was oneLivid with terror, clutching at his knees. . .Our chaps…
Out to the flat rich country, green with June…And sunset flares across wet crops and tillage,Blazing with splendour-patches. (Harvest soon,Up in the Line.) ‘Perhaps the War’ll be done‘By Christmas-Day. Keep smiling then, old son.’Here’s the Canal: it’s dusk; we cross the bridge.‘Lead on there, by platoons.’ (The Line’s a-glareWith shell-fire through the poplars; distant rattleOf…
I’m sure you felt no pity while they stoodPatient and cowed and scared, as prisoners should.How did you do them in? Come, don’t be shy:You know I love to hear how Germans die,Downstairs in dug-outs. ‘Camerad!’ they cry;Then squeal like stoats when bombs begin to fly.And you? I know your record. You went sickWhen orders…
While the dim charging breakers of the stormBellow and drone and rumble overhead,Out of the gloom they gather about my bed.They whisper to my heart; their thoughts are mine.‘Why are you here with all your watches ended?From Ypres to Frise we sought you in the Line.’In bitter safety I awake, unfriended;And while the dawn begins…
Of Time. In dream I saw them go–And thought, ‘When they come back I’ll showTo what far place I lead my friendsWhere this disastrous decade ends.’Like one in purgatory, I learnedThe loss of hope. For none returned,And long in darkening dream I lay.Then came a ghost whose warning breathGasped from an agony of death,‘No, not…
