Free The Penguin Book of First World War Poetry by Various Contributors Page A

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    And looked above the wreckage of the earth
    To where the white clouds moved in silent lines
    Across the untroubled blue.
    Richard Aldington
    On Somme
    Suddenly into the still air burst thudding
    And thudding, and cold fear possessed me all,
    On the grey slopes there, where winter in sullen brooding
    Hung between height and depth of the ugly fall
    Of Heaven to earth; and the thudding was illness’ own.
    But still a hope I kept that were we there going over,
    I, in the line, I should not fail, but take recover
    From others’ courage, and not as coward be known.
    No flame we saw, the noise and the dread alone
    10             Was battle to us; men were enduring there such
    And such things, in wire tangled, to shatters blown.
    Courage kept, but ready to vanish at first touch.
    Fear, but just held. Poets were luckier once
    In the hot fray swallowed and some magnificence.
    Ivor Gurney
    Before the Charge
    The night is still and the air is keen,
    Â Â Â Â Â Tense with menace the time crawls by,
    In front is the town and its homes are seen,
    Â Â Â Â Â Blurred in outline against the sky.
    The dead leaves float in the sighing air,
    Â Â Â Â Â The darkness moves like a curtain drawn,
    A veil which the morning sun will tear
    Â Â Â Â Â From the face of death. – We charge at dawn.
    Patrick MacGill
    It’s a Queer Time
    It’s hard to know if you’re alive or dead
    When steel and fire go roaring through your head.
    One moment you’ll be crouching at your gun
    Traversing, mowing heaps down half in fun:
    The next, you choke and clutch at your right breast –
    No time to think – leave all – and off you go…
    To Treasure Island where the Spice winds blow,
    To lovely groves of mango, quince and lime –
    Breathe no goodbye, but ho, for the Red West!
    10                       It’s a queer time.
    You’re charging madly at them yelling ‘Fag!’
    When somehow something gives and your feet drag.
    You fall and strike your head; yet feel no pain
    And find…You’re digging tunnels through the hay
    In the Big Barn, ‘cause it’s a rainy day.
    Oh springy hay, and lovely beams to climb!
    You’re back in the old sailor suit again.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â It’s a queer time.
    Or you’ll be dozing safe in your dug-out –
    20             A great roar – the trench shakes and falls about –
    You’re struggling, gasping, struggling, then…hullo!
    Elsie comes tripping gaily down the trench,
    Hanky to nose – that lyddite makes a stench –
    Getting her pinafore all over grime.
    Funny! because she died ten years ago!
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â It’s a queer time.
    The trouble is, things happen much too quick;
    Up jump the Bosches, rifles thump and click,
    You stagger, and the whole scene fades away:
    30             Even good Christians don’t like passing straight
    From Tipperary or their Hymn of Hate
    To Alleluiah-chanting, and the chime
    Of golden harps…and…I’m not well today…
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â It’s a queer time.
    Robert Graves
    The Face
    Out of the smoke of men’s wrath,
    The red mist of anger,
    Suddenly,
    As a wraith of sleep,
    A boy’s face, white and tense,
    Convulsed with terror and hate,
    The lips trembling…
    Then a red smear, falling…
    I thrust aside the cloud, as it were tangible,
    10             Blinded with a mist of blood.
    The face cometh again
    As a wraith of sleep:
    A boy’s face delicate and blonde,
    The very mask of God,
    Broken.
    Frederic Manning
    Gethsemane
    The Garden called Gethsemane
    Â Â Â Â Â In Picardy it was,
    And there the people came to