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<\/a>I have strong opinions on the war, and I won’t air them here, not today.<\/p>\nInstead, I will share a selection of World War I poetry.<\/p>\n
Dreamers<\/b>
\nSoldiers are citizens of death’s gray land,
\n Drawing no dividend from time’s to-morrows;
\nIn the great hour of destiny they stand,
\n Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.
\nSoldiers are sworn to action; they must win
\n Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.
\nSoldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin
\n They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.<\/p>\n
I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,
\n And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,
\nDreaming of things they did with balls and bats,
\n And mocked by hopeless longing to regain
\nBank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,
\n And going to the office in the train.
\n — Siegfried Sassoon<\/i><\/p>\n
Anthem for Doomed Youth<\/b>
\nWhat passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
\n Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
\n Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
\nCan patter out their hasty orisons.
\nNo mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
\nNor any voice of mourning save the choirs’
\nThe shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
\nAnd bugles calling for them from sad shires.<\/p>\n
What candles may be held to speed them all?
\n Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
\nShall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
\n The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
\nTheir flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
\nAnd each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
\n — Wilfred Owen<\/i><\/p>\n
Liebestod<\/b>
\nI who, conceived beneath another star,
\nHad been a prince and played with life, instead
\nHave been its slave, an outcast exiled far
\nFrom the fair things my faith has merited.
\nMy ways have been the ways that wanderers tread
\nAnd those that make romance of poverty —
\nSoldier, I shared the soldier’s board and bed,
\nAnd Joy has been a thing more oft to me
\nWhispered by summer wind and summer sea
\nThan known incarnate in the hours it lies
\nAll warm against our hearts and laughs into our eyes.<\/p>\n
I know not if in risking my best days
\nI shall leave utterly behind me here
\nThis dream that lightened me through lonesome ways
\nAnd that no disappointment made less dear;
\nSometimes I think that, where the hilltops rear
\nTheir white entrenchments back of tangled wire,
\nBehind the mist Death only can make clear,
\nThere, like Brunhilde ringed with flaming fire,
\nLies what shall ease my heart’s immense desire:
\nThere, where beyond the horror and the pain
\nOnly the brave shall pass, only the strong attain.<\/p>\n
Truth or delusion, be it as it may,
\nYet think it true, dear friends, for, thinking so,
\nThat thought shall nerve our sinews on the day
\nWhen to the last assault our bugles blow:
\nReckless of pain and peril we shall go,
\nHeads high and hearts aflame and bayonets bare,
\nAnd we shall brave eternity as though
\nEyes looked on us in which we would seem fair —
\nOne waited in whose presence we would wear,
\nEven as a lover who would be well-seen,
\nOur manhood faultless and our honor clean.
\n — Alan Seeger<\/i><\/p>\n
In Flanders Fields<\/b>
\nIn Flanders fields the poppies blow
\nBetween the crosses, row on row,
\n That mark our place; and in the sky
\n The larks, still bravely singing, fly
\nScarce heard amid the guns below.<\/p>\n
We are the Dead. Short days ago
\nWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
\n Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
\n In Flanders fields.<\/p>\n
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
\nTo you from failing hands we throw
\n The torch; be yours to hold it high.
\n If ye break faith with us who die
\nWe shall not sleep, though poppies grow
\n In Flanders fields.
\n — John McCrae<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Today, November 11, 2018, marks one hundred years since the guns fell silent on the Western Front and World War I came to an end. I have strong opinions on the war, and I won’t air them here, not today. Instead, I will share a selection of World War I poetry. Dreamers Soldiers are citizensContinue reading “Veteran’s Day”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":29328,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[126],"tags":[14],"class_list":["post-31559","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-history","tag-world-war-i","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.allyngibson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31559","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.allyngibson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.allyngibson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.allyngibson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.allyngibson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=31559"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.allyngibson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31559\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.allyngibson.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/29328"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.allyngibson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=31559"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.allyngibson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=31559"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.allyngibson.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=31559"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}