Poems List

Before Day

Before Day
Come in this hour to set my spirit free
When earth is no more mine though night goes out,
And stretching forth these arms I cannot be
Lord of winged sunrise and dim Arcady:
When fieldward boys far off with clack and shout
From orchards scare the birds in sudden rout,
Come, ere my heart grows cold and full of doubt,
In the still summer dawns that waken me.
When the first lark goes up to look for day
And morning glimmers out of dreams, come then
Out of the songless valleys, over grey
Wide misty lands to bring me on my way:
For I am lone, a dweller among men
Hungered for what my heart shall never say.
90

Base Details

Base Details
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.
You'd see me with my puffy petulant face,
Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel,
Reading the Roll of Honour. "Poor young chap,"
I'd say -- "I used to know his father well;
Yes, we've lost heavily in this last scrap."
And when the war is done and youth stone dead,
I'd toddle safely home and die -- in bed.
128

Autumn

Autumn
October's bellowing anger breaks and cleaves
The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood
In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves
For battle’s fruitless harvest, and the feud
Of outraged men. Their lives are like the leaves
Scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown
Along the westering furnace flaring red.
O martyred youth and manhood overthrown,
The burden of your wrongs is on my head.
81

At Daybreak

At Daybreak
I listen for him through the rain,
And in the dusk of starless hours
I know that he will come again;
Loth was he ever to forsake me:
He comes with glimmering of flowers
And stir of music to awake me.
Spirit of purity, he stands
As once he lived in charm and grace:
I may not hold him with my hands,
Nor bid him stay to heal my sorrow;
Only his fair, unshadowed face
Abides with me until to-morrow.
77

Arms and the Man

Arms and the Man
Young Croesus went to pay his call
On Colonel Sawbones, Caxton Hall:
And, though his wound was healed and mended,
He hoped he’d get his leave extended.
The waiting-room was dark and bare.
He eyed a neat-framed notice there
Above the fireplace hung to show
Disabled heroes where to go
For arms and legs; with scale of price,
And words of dignified advice
How officers could get them free.
Elbow or shoulder, hip or knee,
Two arms, two legs, though all were lost,
They’d be restored him free of cost.
Then a Girl Guide looked to say,
‘Will Captain Croesus come this way?’
102

Ancient History

Ancient History
Adam, a brown old vulture in the rain,
Shivered below his wind-whipped olive-trees;
Huddling sharp chin on scarred and scraggy knees,
He moaned and mumbled to his darkening brain;
‘He was the grandest of them all was Cain!
‘A lion laired in the hills, that none could tire:
‘Swift as a stag: a stallion of the plain,
‘Hungry and fierce with deeds of huge desire.’
Grimly he thought of Abel, soft and fair
A lover with disaster in his face,
And scarlet blossom twisted in bright hair.
‘Afraid to fight; was murder more disgrace?’
‘God always hated Cain’ He bowed his head
The gaunt wild man whose lovely sons were dead.
90

An Old French Poet

An Old French Poet
When in your sober mood my body have ye laid
In sight and sound of things beloved, woodland and stream,
And the green turf has hidden the poor bones ye deem
No more a close companion with those rhymes we made;
Then, if some bird should pipe, or breezes stir the glade,
Thinking them for the while my voice, so let them seem
A fading message from the misty shores of dream,
Or wheresoever, following Death, my feet have strayed.
102

Aftermath

Aftermath
Have you forgotten yet?...
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
But the past is just the same--and War's a bloody game...
Have you forgotten yet?...
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.
Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz--
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
Do you remember the rats; and the stench
Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench--
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
Do you ever stop and ask, 'Is it all going to happen again?'
Do you remember that hour of din before the attack--
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then
As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
With dying eyes and lolling heads--those ashen-grey
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?
Have you forgotten yet?...
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget.
84

A Working Party

A Working Party
Three hours ago he blundered up the trench,
Sliding and poising, groping with his boots;
Sometimes he tripped and lurched against the walls
With hands that pawed the sodden bags of chalk.
He couldn't see the man who walked in front;
Only he heard the drum and rattle of feet
Stepping along barred trench boards, often splashing
Wretchedly where the sludge was ankle-deep.
Voices would grunt `Keep to your right -- make way!'
When squeezing past some men from the front-line:
White faces peered, puffing a point of red;
Candles and braziers glinted through the chinks
And curtain-flaps of dug-outs; then the gloom
Swallowed his sense of sight; he stooped and swore
Because a sagging wire had caught his neck.
A flare went up; the shining whiteness spread
And flickered upward, showing nimble rats
And mounds of glimmering sand-bags, bleached with rain;
Then the slow silver moment died in dark.
The wind came posting by with chilly gusts
And buffeting at the corners, piping thin.
And dreary through the crannies; rifle-shots
Would split and crack and sing along the night,
And shells came calmly through the drizzling air
To burst with hollow bang below the hill.
Three hours ago, he stumbled up the trench;
Now he will never walk that road again:
He must be carried back, a jolting lump
Beyond all needs of tenderness and care.
He was a young man with a meagre wife
And two small children in a Midland town,
He showed their photographs to all his mates,
And they considered him a decent chap
Who did his work and hadn't much to say,
And always laughed at other people's jokes
Because he hadn't any of his own.
That night when he was busy at his job
Of piling bags along the parapet,
He thought how slow time went, stamping his feet
And blowing on his fingers, pinched with cold.
He thought of getting back by half-past twelve,
And tot of rum to send him warm to sleep
In draughty dug-out frowsty with the fumes
Of coke, and full of snoring weary men.
He pushed another bag along the top,
Craning his body outward; then a flare


Gave one white glimpse of No Man's Land and wire;
And as he dropped his head the instant split
His startled life with lead, and all went out.
124

A Poplar and the Moon

A Poplar and the Moon
There stood a Poplar, tall and straight;
The fair, round Moon, uprisen late,
Made the long shadow on the grass
A ghostly bridge ’twixt heaven and me.
But May, with slumbrous nights, must pass;
And blustering winds will strip the tree.
And I’ve no magic to express
The moment of that loveliness;
So from these words you’ll never guess
The stars and lilies I could see.
92

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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.