| Poetry of the Great War |
| HOME Ayr Books Celtic Clyde Cow-punchers Falkirk Kilmarnock Links Misc Photos Raith Rangers Third L Trauma V.C.s WW1 |
|
 |
www.poppyscotland.org.uk The Earl Haig fund |
 |
| Seigfried Sassoon |
 |
| In Memoriam
Ewart Alan Mackintosh So you were David's father, And he was your only son, And the new-cut peats are rotting And the work is left undone, Because of an old man weeping, Just an old man in pain, For David, his son David, That will not come again. Oh, the letters he wrote you, And I can see them still, Not a word of the fighting, But just the sheep on the hill And how you should get the crops in Ere the year get stormier, And the Bosches have got his body, And I was his officer. You were only David's father, But I had fifty sons When we went up in the evening Under the arch of the guns, And we came back at twilight - O God! I heard them call To me for help and pity That could not help at all. Oh, never will I forget you, My men that trusted me, More my sons than your fathers', For they could only see The little helpless babies And the young men in their pride. They could not see you dying, And hold you while you died. Happy and young and gallant, They saw their first-born go, But not the strong limbs broken And the beautiful men brought low, The piteous writhing bodies, They screamed 'Don't leave me, sir', For they were only your fathers But I was your officer. |
| Wilfred Owen |
| Does it Matter?
Siegfried Sassoon Does it matter?�losing your legs?... For people will always be kind, And you need not show that you mind When the others come in after hunting To gobble their muffins and eggs. Does it matter ?�losing your sight?... There's such splendid work for the blind; And people will always be kind, As you sit on the terrace remembering And turning your face to the light. Do they matter?�those dreams from the pit?... You can drink and forget and be glad, And people won't say that you're mad; For they'll know you've fought for your country And no one will worry a bit. |
| Wilfred Owen
On Seeing a Piece of Our Heavy Artillery Brought into Action Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm, Great Gun towering towards Heaven, about to curse; Sway steep against them, and for years rehearse Huge imprecations like a blasting charm! Reach at that Arrogance which needs thy harm, And beat it down before its sins grow worse. Spend our resentment, cannon, -- yea, disburse Our gold in shapes of flame, our breaths in storm. Yet, for men's sakes whom thy vast malison Must wither innocent of enmity, Be not withdrawn, dark arm, thy spoilure done, Safe to the bosom of our prosperity. But when thy spell be cast complete and whole, May God curse thee, and cut thee from our soul! |
 |
| E.A. Mackintosh |
| German Prisoners
By Joseph Lee WHEN first I saw you in the curious street Like some platoon of soldier ghosts in grey, My mad impulse was all to smite and slay, To spit upon you�tread you �neath my feet. But when I saw how each sad soul did greet My gaze with no sign of defiant frown, How from tired eyes looked spirits broken down, How each face showed the pale flag of defeat, And doubt, despair, and disillusionment, And how were grievous wounds on many a head, And on your garb red-faced was other red; And how you stooped as men whose strength was spent, I knew that we had suffered each as other, And could have grasped your hand and cried, �My brother!� |
 |