Poetry of the First World War

A leaping wind from England
A sudden roar, a mighty rushing sound
All the hills and vales along
And if a bullet in the midst of strife
Apart sweet women (for whom Heaven be blessed)
Apres la guerre finie
As the team's head-brass flashed out on the turn At
dawn the ridge emerges massed and dun At Delville I
lost three Sergeants At home they see on Skiddaw
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
By all the glories of the day
Christ! I am blind! God give me strength to beat Colonel
Cold strode up the Line
Deep in the slumbering night hide me away Does it
matter? - losing your legs?
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved
Downward slopes the wild red sun
Fighting in mud, we turn to Thee For all we have and
are
God! how I hate you, you young cheerful men, 'Good-
morning; good-morning!' the General said
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Have you forgotten yet?
'Have you news of my boy Jack?'
He dropped, - more sullenly than wearily He laughed.
His blue eyes searched the morning
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark He's gone,
and all our plans Here dead we lie because we did not
choose Here do I lie
His wet white face and miserable eyes How long, О
Lord, how long, before the flood How still this quiet
cornfield is to-night!
I could not dig: I dared not rob
I could not look on Death, which being known
I don't want to be a soldier
I dropp'd here three weeks ago, yes - I know
I have a rendezvous with Death
I have borne my cross through Flanders
I have come to the borders of sleep
I hear the tinkling of a cattle bell
I killed them, but they would not die
I knew a man, he was my chum
I know that I shall meet my fate
I once had a lovely platoon, Sir
I saw a man this morning
I shall be mad if you get smashed about
I shot him, and it had to be
I snatched two poppies
I think it better that in times like these
I, too, saw God through mud
I tracked a dead man down a trench
I wandered down to Beaucourt; I took the river track
I was out early today, spying about I watch the white
dawn gleam I will arise and go now, and go to Picardy If
any question why we died If I die to-morrow If I should
die, think only this of me If I were but a Journalist If I
were fierce, and bald, and short of breath If I were
now of handsome middle-age If only this fear would
leave me I could dream of Crickley Hill If you want to
find the Sergeant I'm not a soldier born and bred 'I'm
sorry I done it, Major'
In Flanders fields the poppies blow In my tired, helpless
body In silks and satins the ladies went In sodden
trenches I have heard men speak In the Shell Hole he
lies, this German soldier of a year ago
Is this to live? - to cower and stand aside It is the last
morning of October!
It seemed that out of battle I escaped It was too long
ago - that Company which we served with
'Jack fell as he'd have wished,' the Mother said Keen
through the shell-hole in my billet walls
Ladies and gentlemen, this is High Wood 'Lads, you're
wanted, go and help'
Life and Death were playing Light-lipped and singing
press we hard Liquid fire and poison gas Lord! How we
laughed in Amiens!
Morning, if this late withered light can claim Move him
into the sun
My son was killed while laughing at some jest
Nine-thirty o'clock? Then over the top 'No one cares
less than Г Not yet will those measureless fields be
green again
Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His
hour
Now you are dead, I dare not read Nudes - stark and
glistening
Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that
knife us
Over the flat slope of St Eloi
Over the top! The wire's thin here, unbarbed
'Pass it along, the wiring party's going out'
Red lips are not so red
Sandy Mac the sniper is a-sniping Shaken from sleep,
and numbed and scarce awake
So soon! At 3.15
So you were David's father
Sombre the night is
Someville is the Rail-head for bully beef and tea
Sons of mine, I hear you thrilling
Such, such is Death: no triumph: no defeat
That night your great guns, unawares The Bishop tells
us: 'When the boys come back' The bugler sent a call of
high romance The case of Lieutenant Tattoon, M.C.
The cherry trees bend over and are shedding The
darkness crumbles away The flowers left thick at
nightfall in the wood The Garden called Gethsemane
The General inspecting the trenches The magpies in
Picardy The men that worked for England The naked
earth is warm with spring The plunging limbers over the
shattered track The rough Profanity is lost in sleep The
sun's a red ball in the oak The young men of the world
There are strange Hells within the minds War made
There is no fitter end than this There's a Jerry over
there, Sarge!
There was a man - don't mind his name These are the
damned circles Dante trod They are bringing him down
They ask me where I've been They gave me this name
like their nature
They left the fury of the fight This is no case of petty
right or wrong This is the Chapel: here, my son This
ploughman dead in battle slept out of doors Tired with
dull grief, grown old before my day 'Tis midnight, and
above the hollow trench 'Tis strange to look on a man
that is dead To you who'd read my songs of War True
he'd have fought to death if the Germans came
Under his helmet, up against his pack
Was it for this you came into the light Waste of Muscle,
waste of Brain We are Fred Karno's army, we are the
ragtime infantry
We came upon him sitting in the sun We stood up
before day
We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew We'd
gained our first objective hours before Well, how are
things in Heaven? I wish you'd say
What of the faith and fire within us What passing bells
for those who die as cattle? When I remember plain
heroic strength When our men are marching lightly up
and down,
When there ain't no gal to kiss you
When this bloody war is over
When you and I are buried
When you see millions of the mouthless dead
Where war has left its wake of whitened bone
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
Who died on the wires, and hung there, one of two
Who made the Law that men should die in meadows?
Who's for the trench
Who will remember, passing through this Gate
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children
Yes. I remember Adlestrop
You are blind like us. Your hurt no man designed
You are standing watch in hand
You love us when we're heroes, home on leave
'You! What d'you mean by this?' I rapped