Poems List

The Fathers

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 his nine-inch gun.’
‘Yes,’ wheezed the other, ‘that’s the luck!
My boy’s quite broken-hearted, stuck
In England training all this year.
Still, if there’s truth in what we hear,
The Huns intend to ask for more
Before they bolt across the Rhine.’
I watched them toddle through the door—
These impotent old friends of mine.
80

The Dream

The Dream
I
Moonlight and dew-drenched blossom, and the scent
Of summer gardens; these can bring you all
Those dreams that in the starlit silence fall:
Sweet songs are full of odours.
While I went
Last night in drizzling dusk along a lane,
I passed a squalid farm; from byre and midden
Came the rank smell that brought me once again
A dream of war that in the past was hidden.
II
Up a disconsolate straggling village street
I saw the tired troops trudge: I heard their feet.
The cheery Q.M.S. was there to meet
And guide our Company in...
I watched them stumble
Into some crazy hovel, too beat to grumble;
Saw them file inward, slipping from their backs
Rifles, equipment, packs.
On filthy straw they sit in the gloom, each face
Bowed to patched, sodden boots they must unlace,
While the wind chills their sweat through chinks and cracks.
III
I’m looking at their blistered feet; young Jones
Stares up at me, mud-splashed and white and jaded;
Out of his eyes the morning light has faded.
Old soldiers with three winters in their bones
Puff their damp Woodbines, whistle, stretch their toes:
They can still grin at me, for each of ’em knows
That I’m as tired as they are...
Can they guess
The secret burden that is always mine?—
Pride in their courage; pity for their distress;
And burning bitterness
That I must take them to the accursèd Line.
IV
I cannot hear their voices, but I see
Dim candles in the barn: they gulp their tea,
And soon they’ll sleep like logs. Ten miles away
The battle winks and thuds in blundering strife.
And I must lead them nearer, day by day,
To the foul beast of war that bludgeons life.
70

The Dug-out

The Dug-out
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,
Deep-shadowed from the candle's guttering gold;
And you wonder why I shake you by the shoulder;
Drowsy, you mumble and sigh and turn your head...
You are too young to fall asleep for ever;
And when you sleep you remind me of the dead.
65

The Choral Union

The Choral Union
He staggered in from night and frost and fog
And lampless streets: he’d guzzled like a hog
And drunk till he was dazed. And now he came
To hear—he couldn’t call to mind the name—
But he’d been given a ticket for the show,
And thought he’d (hiccup) chance his luck and go.
The hall swam in his eyes, and soaring light
Was dazzling splendid after the dank night.
He sat and blinked, safe in his cushioned seat,
And licked his lips; he’d like a brandy, neat.
‘Who is the King of Glory?’ they were saying,
He pricked his ears; what was it? Were they praying?...
By God, it might be Heaven! For singers stood
Ranked in pure white; and everyone seemed good;
And clergymen were sitting meekly round
With joyful faces, drinking in the sound;
And holy women, and plump whiskered men.
Could this be Heaven? And was he dead? And then
They all stood up; the mighty chorus broke
In storms of song above those blameless folk;
And ‘Hallelujah, Hallelujah!’ rang
The burden of the triumph that they sang.
He gasped; it must be true; he’d got to Heaven
With all his sins that seventy times were seven;
And whispering ‘Hallelujah’ mid their shout,
He wondered when Lord God would turn him out.
83

The Death-Bed

The Death-Bed
He drowsed and was aware of silence heaped
Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls;
Aqueous like floating rays of amber light,
Soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep.
Silence and safety; and his mortal shore
Lipped by the inward, moonless waves of death.
Someone was holding water to his mouth.
He swallowed, unresisting; moaned and dropped
Through crimson gloom to darkness; and forgot
The opiate throb and ache that was his wound.
Water—calm, sliding green above the weir.
Water—a sky-lit alley for his boat,
Bird- voiced, and bordered with reflected flowers
And shaken hues of summer; drifting down,
He dipped contented oars, and sighed, and slept.
Night, with a gust of wind, was in the ward,
Blowing the curtain to a glimmering curve.
Night. He was blind; he could not see the stars
Glinting among the wraiths of wandering cloud;
Queer blots of colour, purple, scarlet, green,
Flickered and faded in his drowning eyes.
Rain—he could hear it rustling through the dark;
Fragrance and passionless music woven as one;
Warm rain on drooping roses; pattering showers
That soak the woods; not the harsh rain that sweeps
Behind the thunder, but a trickling peace,
Gently and slowly washing life away.
He stirred, shifting his body; then the pain
Leapt like a prowling beast, and gripped and tore
His groping dreams with grinding claws and fangs.
But someone was beside him; soon he lay
Shuddering because that evil thing had passed.
And death, who'd stepped toward him, paused and stared.
Light many lamps and gather round his bed.
Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live.
Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.
He's young; he hated War; how should he die
When cruel old campaigners win safe through?
But death replied: 'I choose him.' So he went,
And there was silence in the summer night;
Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep.
Then, far away, the thudding of the guns.
67

Suicide in the Trenches

Suicide in the Trenches
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.
69

Storm and Sunlight

Storm and Sunlight
I
In barns we crouch, and under stacks of straw,
Harking the storm that rides a hurtling legion
Up the arched sky, and speeds quick heels of panic
With growling thunder loosed in fork and clap
That echoes crashing thro’ the slumbrous vault.
The whispering woodlands darken: vulture Gloom
Stoops, menacing the skeltering flocks of Light,
Where the gaunt shepherd shakes his gleaming staff
And foots with angry tidings down the slope.
Drip, drip; the rain steals in through soaking thatch
By cob-webbed rafters to the dusty floor.
Drums shatter in the tumult; wrathful Chaos
Points pealing din to the zenith, then resolves
Terror in wonderment with rich collapse.
II
Now from drenched eaves a swallow darts to skim
The crystal stillness of an air unveiled
To tremulous blue. Raise your bowed heads, and let
Your horns adore the sky, ye patient kine!
Haste, flashing brooks! Small, chuckling rills, rejoice!
Be open-eyed for Heaven, ye pools of peace!
Shine, rain-bow hills! Dream on, fair glimpsèd vale
In haze of drifting gold! And all sweet birds,
Sing out your raptures to the radiant leaves!
And ye, close huddling Men, come forth to stand
A moment simple in the gaze of God
That sweeps along your pastures! Breathe his might!
Lift your blind faces to be filled with day,
And share his benediction with the flowers.
104

South Wind

South Wind
Where have you been, South Wind, this May-day morning,—
With larks aloft, or skimming with the swallow,
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 you
When you stole to me shyly with scent of hawthorn.
70

Slumber-Song

Slumber-Song
Sleep; and my song shall build about your bed
A paradise of dimness. You shall feel
The folding of tired wings; and peace will dwell
Throned in your silence: and one hour shall hold
Summer, and midnight, and immensity
Lulled to forgetfulness. For, where you dream,
The stately gloom of foliage shall embower
Your slumbering thought with tapestries of blue.
And there shall be no memory of the sky,
Nor sunlight with its cruelty of swords.
But, to your soul that sinks from deep to deep
Through drowned and glimmering colour, Time shall be
Only slow rhythmic swaying; and your breath;
And roses in the darkness; and my love.
127

Secret Music

Secret Music
I keep such music in my brain
No din this side of death can quell;
Glory exulting over pain,
And beauty, garlanded in hell.
My dreaming spirit will not heed
The roar of guns that would destroy
My life that on the gloom can read
Proud-surging melodies of joy.
To the world’s end I went, and found
Death in his carnival of glare;
But in my torment I was crowned,
And music dawned above despair.
83

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Identification and basic context

Siegfried Loraine Sassoon was an English poet and soldier. He was born in 1886 and died in 1967. His family was of Anglo-Jewish and English descent. Sassoon was born into a wealthy family, which provided him with a privileged upbringing. He was a British subject and wrote primarily in English.

Childhood and education

Sassoon was the second of three sons born to Alfred Ezra Sassoon and Theresa Olga Cecily Torrens. His father was from the prominent Sassoon banking family. His mother, known as 'Lisa', was of Persian Jewish and English background. He was educated at Marlborough College and later attended Clare College, Cambridge, though he did not take a degree. He spent much of his early adult life hunting, playing cricket, and writing poetry, living off his inheritance.

Literary trajectory

Sassoon began writing poetry in his early twenties. His initial works were largely Georgian in style, characterized by pastoral themes and a gentle lyricism. However, his experiences in World War I profoundly altered his perspective and poetic output. After serving on the Western Front and witnessing the brutal realities of trench warfare firsthand, his poetry became a powerful instrument of protest and disillusionment. He gained significant recognition for his stark, angry, and honest depictions of the war. He published numerous collections throughout his life, evolving from romantic ideals to profound social and spiritual commentary.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Sassoon's most famous works include the collections *The Old Huntsman and Other Poems* (1917), *Counter-Attack and Other Poems* (1918), and *Picture-Show* (1919). His war poetry is characterized by its directness, irony, and savage indignation, often using vivid imagery to convey the physical and psychological toll of conflict. Themes such as the futility of war, the suffering of soldiers, the hypocrisy of politicians, and the loss of innocence are central. His style evolved from the traditional forms of his early work to a more forceful and direct address in his war poems, often employing sharp contrasts and satirical tones. He experimented with rhythm and meter to enhance the impact of his verse. Later works explored more personal and spiritual themes, moving away from overt political protest.

Cultural and historical context

Sassoon lived through the tumultuous period of World War I, which served as a pivotal catalyst for his literary output. He was associated with the Georgian poets at the beginning of his career but became a leading voice of anti-war poetry, often seen as a precursor to the disillusionment of later modernist writers. His public denunciation of the war effort, including his famous speech at the Houses of Parliament in 1917, placed him at odds with the prevailing patriotic sentiment and military establishment. He was part of a literary milieu that included figures like Robert Graves and Wilfred Owen.

Personal life

Sassoon's personal life was marked by significant events and relationships. His mother's death when he was young had a lasting impact. His military service in World War I was a defining period, leading to injuries and profound psychological trauma. He married Hester Gatty in 1933, with whom he had a son, David Sassoon. Their marriage eventually ended. Sassoon's close friendships, notably with Wilfred Owen, were crucial, as was his later relationship with the poet and psychologist Dr. Stephen Tomlinson. His experiences, including his periods of disillusionment and search for meaning, informed his later poetry and his eventual conversion to Catholicism.

Recognition and reception

Sassoon received considerable recognition during his lifetime, particularly for his war poetry, which was seen as a vital counterpoint to official narratives of the conflict. He was awarded the Military Cross for bravery in action. His work was highly regarded by critics and the public alike for its emotional honesty and powerful indictment of war. While his reputation as a war poet has remained enduring, critical analysis has also focused on the depth and complexity of his later, more introspective works.

Influences and legacy

Sassoon was influenced by poets such as William Morris and Thomas Hardy. His own work, particularly his unflinching portrayal of war, profoundly influenced subsequent generations of war poets and writers who sought to grapple with the realities of conflict. His legacy lies in his courageous articulation of disillusionment and his contribution to a more realistic and critical mode of poetic expression. He remains a central figure in the study of WWI literature.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Sassoon's poetry is often interpreted as a powerful testament to the human cost of war and a scathing critique of the political and social forces that perpetrate it. Critics have analyzed the tension between his initial romantic sensibilities and the harsh realism imposed by his wartime experiences. His later work is explored for its exploration of faith, doubt, and the search for spiritual solace in the aftermath of trauma. The evolution of his poetic voice from anger to a more reflective and sometimes elegiac tone is a key area of critical discussion.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Despite his reputation as a fierce critic of war, Sassoon was a decorated soldier who displayed considerable bravery. He was known for his passion for hunting and country life before the war, which starkly contrasts with his later pacifist leanings. A significant event was his intentional self-wounding and subsequent declaration against the war at the Houses of Parliament, which led to him being sent to Craiglockhart War Hospital, where he met Wilfred Owen. His diaries and letters provide rich material for understanding his complex personality and creative process.

Death and memory

Siegfried Sassoon died of a heart attack in 1967 at the age of 80. His death marked the end of an era for English poetry. He is remembered as one of the foremost poets of the First World War and a significant voice in 20th-century literature. His works continue to be read, studied, and performed, ensuring his memory and the power of his protest endure.