Siegfried Loraine Sassoon

I Here I'm sitting in the gloom Of my quiet attic room.

Three hours ago he blundered up the trench, Sliding and poising, groping with his boots; Sometimes he tripped and lurched against the walls

Have you forgotten yet?... For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days, Like traffic checked awhile at the crossing of city ways:

Young Croesus went to pay his call On Colonel Sawbones, Caxton Hall: And, though his wound was healed and mended,

Down in the hollow there's the whole Brigade Camped in four groups: through twilight falling slow I hear a sound of mouth-organs, ill-played,

You told me, in your drunken-boasting mood, How once you butchered prisoners. That was good! I'm sure you felt no pity while they stood

At dawn the ridge emerges massed and dun In the wild purple of the glowering sun, Smouldering through spouts of drifting smoke that shroud

October's bellowing anger breaks and cleaves The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves

I am banished from the patient men who fight. They smote my heart to pity, built my pride. Shoulder to aching shoulder, side by side,

If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath, I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base, And speed glum heroes up the line to death.

"Fall in! Now, get a move on!" (Curse the rain.) We splash away along the straggling village, Out to the flat rich country green with June....

Music of whispering trees Hushed by the broad-winged breeze Where shaken water gleams;

The house is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din;

There seemed a smell of autumn in the air At the bleak end of night; he shivered there In a dank, musty dug-out where he lay,

(EGYPTIAN BASE CAMP) They are gathering round ... Out of the twilight; over the grey-blue sand,

"Fall in, that awkward squad, and strike no more "Attractive attitudes! Dress by the right! "The luminous rich colours that you wore

We'd gained our first objective hours before While dawn broke like a face with blinking eyes, Pallid, unshaved and thirsty, blind with smoke.

I From you, Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, The substance of my dreams took fire.

His wet, white face and miserable eyes Brought nurses to him more than groans and sighs: But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fell

Does it matter? - losing your leg? ... For people will always be kind, And you need not show that you mind

Soldiers are citizens of death's grey land, Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows. In the great hour of destiny they stand,

He seemed so certain "all was going well," As he discussed the glorious time he'd had While visiting the trenches.

Everyone suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delight As prisoned birds must find in freedom

The boys came back. Bands played and flags were flying, And Yellow-Pressmen thronged the sunlit street To cheer the soldiers who'd refrained from dying,

You love us when we're heroes, home on leave, Or wounded in a mentionable place. You worship decorations; you believe

Evening was in the wood, louring with storm. A time of drought had sucked the weedy pool And baked the channels; birds had done with song.

Dark clouds are smouldering into red While down the craters morning burns. The dying soldier shifts his head

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:

Quietly they set their burden down: he tried To grin; moaned; moved his head from side to side. *        *        *        *        *

The barrack-square, washed clean with rain, Shines wet and wintry-grey and cold. Young Fusiliers, strong-legged and bold,

So Davies wrote: "This leaves me in the pink." Then scrawled his name: "Your loving sweetheart, Willie." With crosses for a hug. He'd had a drink

Come down from heaven to meet me when my breath Chokes, and through drumming shafts of stifling death I stumble toward escape, to find the door

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

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

(GREAT WAR) Squire nagged and bullied till I went to fight (Under Lord Derby's scheme). I died in hell -

(ALEXANDRIA-MARSEILLES) Out in the blustering darkness, on the deck A gleam of stars looks down. Long blurs of black,

Dim, gradual thinning of the shapeless gloom Shudders to drizzling daybreak that reveals Disconsolate men who stamp their sodden boots

When you are standing at your hero's grave, Or near some homeless village where he died, Remember, through your heart's rekindling pride,

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

Now light the candles; one; two; there's a moth; What silly beggars they are to blunder in And scorch their wings with glory, liquid flame -

A lady watches from the crowd, Enthusiastic, flushed, and proud. "Oh! there's Sir Henry Dudster! Such a splendid leader!

When I'm asleep, dreaming and lulled and warm, - They come, the homeless ones, the noiseless dead. While the dim charging breakers of the storm

In fifty years, when peace outshines Remembrance of the battle lines, Adventurous lads will sigh and cast

I'd been on duty from two till four. I went and stared at the dug-out door. Down in the frowst I heard them snore.

I knew a simple soldier boy Who grinned at life in empty joy, Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,

No doubt they'll soon get well; the shock and strain Have caused their stammering, disconnected talk. Of course they're "longing to go out again," -

He drowsed and was aware of silence heaped Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls; Aqueous like floating rays of amber light,

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,

I Moonlight and dew-drenched blossom, and the scent Of summer gardens; these can bring you all

Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled, And one arm bent across your sullen cold Exhausted face? It hurts my heart to watch you,

"The effect of our bombardment was terrific. One man told me he had never seen so many dead before." - War Correspondent. "He'd never seen so many dead before." They sprawled in yellow daylight while he swore

Snug at the club two fathers sat, Gross, goggle-eyed, and full of chat. One of them said: "My eldest lad

"Good-morning; good-morning!" the General said When we met him last week on our way to the line. Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of 'em dead,

Not much to me is yonder lane Where I go every day; But when there's been a shower of rain

"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

God with a Roll of Honour in His hand Sits welcoming the heroes who have died, While sorrowless angels ranked on either side

To these I turn, in these I trust; Brother Lead and Sister Steel. To his blind power I make appeal;

Propped on a stick he viewed the August weald; Squat orchard trees and oasts with painted cowls; A homely, tangled hedge, a corn-stooked field,

I watch you, gazing at me from the wall, And wonder how you'd match your dreams with mine, If, mastering time's illusion, I could call

(Hindenburg Line, April 1917.) Groping along the tunnel, step by step, He winked his prying torch with patching glare

The road is thronged with women; soldiers pass And halt, but never see them; yet they're here - A patient crowd along the sodden grass,

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

When life was a cobweb of stars for Beauty who came In the whisper of leaves or a bird's lone cry in the glen, On dawn-lit hills and horizons girdled with flame

He's got a Blighty wound. He's safe; and then War's fine and bold and bright. She can forget the doomed and prisoned men

The Bishop tells us: "When the boys come back They will not be the same; for they'll have fought In a just cause: they lead the last attack

Tossed on the glittering air they soar and skim, Whose voices make the emptiness of light A windy palace. Quavering from the brim

Well, how are things in Heaven? I wish you'd say, Because I'd like to know that you're all right. Tell me, have you found everlasting day,

Return to greet me, colours that were my joy, Not in the woeful crimson of men slain, But shining as a garden; come with the streaming

Splashing along the boggy woods all day, And over brambled hedge and holding clay, I shall not think of him:

Shaken from sleep, and numbed and scarce awake, Out in the trench with three hours' watch to take, I blunder through the splashing mirk; and then

Shaken from sleep, and numbed and scarce awake, Out in the trench with three hours' watch to take, I blunder through the splashing mirk; and then

Hullo! here's my platoon, the lot I had last year. "The war'll be over soon." "What 'opes?"

Trudging by Corbie Ridge one winter's night, (Unless old, hearsay memories tricked his sight), Along the pallid edge of the quiet sky

When I'm among a blaze of lights, With tawdry music and cigars And women dawdling through delights,

"Pass it along, the wiring party's going out" - And yawning sentries mumble, "Wirers going out," Unravelling; twisting; hammering stakes with muffled thud,