{"id":858,"date":"2017-10-13T09:59:01","date_gmt":"2017-10-13T09:59:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/schoolshistory.org.uk\/topics\/?page_id=858"},"modified":"2026-06-25T10:53:22","modified_gmt":"2026-06-25T10:53:22","slug":"war-poetry","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/schoolshistory.org.uk\/topics\/world-history\/first-world-war\/war-poetry\/","title":{"rendered":"War Poetry"},"content":{"rendered":"

War Poetry<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Soldier by Rupert Brooke<\/strong><\/p>\n

If I should die, think only this of me:
\nThat there’s some corner of a foreign field
\nThat is for ever England. There shall be
\nIn that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
\nA dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
\nGave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
\nA body of England’s, breathing English air,
\nWashed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.<\/p>\n

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
\nA pulse in the eternal mind, no less<\/p>\n

Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
\nHer sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
\nAnd laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,<\/p>\n

In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.<\/p>\n

Dulce et decorum est by Wilfred Owen<\/strong><\/p>\n

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
\nKnock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
\nTill on the haunting flares we turned out backs,
\nAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.
\nMen marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
\nBut limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
\nDrunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
\nOf gas-shells dropping softly behind.<\/p>\n

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!–An ecstasy of fumbling
\nFitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
\nBut someone still was yelling out and stumbling
\nAnd flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.–
\nDim through the misty panes and thick green light,
\nAs under a green sea, I saw him drowning.<\/p>\n

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
\nHe plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.<\/p>\n

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
\nBehind the wagon that we flung him in,
\nAnd watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
\nHis hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin,
\nIf you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
\nCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
\nBitter as the cud
\nOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
\nMy friend, you would not tell with such high zest
\nTo children ardent for some desperate glory,
\nThe old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
\nPro patria mori.<\/p>\n

Aftermath by S. Sassoon.<\/strong><\/p>\n

HAVE you forgotten yet?…
\nFor the world’s events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
\nLike traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
\nAnd the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
\nLike clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you’re a man reprieved to go,
\nTaking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
\nBut the past is just the same–and War’s a bloody game…
\nHave you forgotten yet?…
\nLook down, and swear by the slain of the War that you’ll never forget.<\/p>\n

Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz–
\nThe nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
\nDo you remember the rats; and the stench
\nOf corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench–
\nAnd dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
\nDo you ever stop and ask, ‘Is it all going to happen again?’<\/p>\n

Do you remember that hour of din before the attack–
\nAnd the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then
\nAs you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
\nDo you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
\nWith dying eyes and lolling heads–those ashen-grey
\nMasks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?<\/p>\n

Have you forgotten yet?…
\nLook up, and swear by the green of the spring that you’ll never forget.<\/p>\n

\u00a0First World War Homepage<\/a>
\nCauses of the First World War<\/a>\u00a0–\u00a0Assassination of Franz Ferdinand<\/a>
\nSchlieffen Plan<\/a>\u00a0–\u00a0Public Reaction to the Outbreak of War<\/a>
\nBritish Expeditionary Force –\u00a0<\/a> Interactive Timeline of the First World War<\/a>
\nSimulation: Life in the Trenches<\/a>\u00a0–\u00a0Statistics<\/a>
\nChanging role of Women<\/a>\u00a0–\u00a0War Poetry<\/a>
\nBritish Contribution to Western Front<\/a>\u00a0–\u00a0Development of New Weapons<\/a>
\nCreeping Barrage<\/a>\u00a0–\u00a0Western Front in 1918<\/a> –
\nHome Front in the First World War<\/a>
\nTimeline Infographic: Causes of World War One<\/a> – Ludendorff and the Spring Offensive<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

War Poetry The Soldier by Rupert Brooke If I should die, think only this of me: That there’s some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":144,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"neve_meta_sidebar":"","neve_meta_container":"","neve_meta_enable_content_width":"off","neve_meta_content_width":100,"neve_meta_title_alignment":"","neve_meta_author_avatar":"","neve_post_elements_order":"","neve_meta_disable_header":"","neve_meta_disable_footer":"","neve_meta_disable_title":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-858","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t