All Poems
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Middle-Ages
© Siegfried Sassoon
I heard a clash, and a cry,
And a horseman fleeing the wood.
The moon hid in a cloud.
Deep in shadow I stood.
Devotion to Duty
© Siegfried Sassoon
I was near the King that day. I saw him snatch
And briskly scan the G.H.Q. dispatch.
Thick-voiced, he read it out. (His face was grave.)
This officer advanced with the first wave,
Today
© Siegfried Sassoon
This is To-day, a child in white and blue
Running to meet me out of Night who stilled
The ghost of Yester-eve; this is fair Morn
The mother of To-morrow. And these clouds
Before the Battle
© Siegfried Sassoon
Music of whispering trees
Hushed by a broad-winged breeze
Where shaken water gleams;
And evening radiance falling
With reedy bird-notes calling.
O bear me safe through dark, you low-voiced streams.
Morning-Glory
© Siegfried Sassoon
Clear the sunlit steeples chime
Marys coronation-time.
Loud the happy children quire
To the golden-windowed morn;
While the lord of their desire
Sleeps below the crimson thorn.
Banishment
© Siegfried Sassoon
The darkness tells how vainly I have striven
To free them from the pit where they must dwell
In outcast gloom convulsed and jagged and riven
By grappling guns. Love drove me to rebel.
Love drives me back to grope with them through hell;
And in their tortured eyes I stand forgiven.
Haunted
© Siegfried Sassoon
Evening was in the wood, louring with storm.
A time of drought had sucked the weedy pool
And baked the channels; birds had done with song.
Thirst was a dream of fountains in the moon,
Or willow-music blown across the water
Leisurely sliding on by weir and mill.
Blind
© Siegfried Sassoon
His headstrong thoughts that once in eager strife
Leapt sure from eye to brain and back to eye,
Weaving unconscious tapestries of life,
Are now thrust inward, dungeoned from the sky.
The Heritage
© Siegfried Sassoon
For even as this, our joy not long may live
Perfect; and most in change the heart can trace
The miracle of life and human things:
All we have held to destiny we give;
Dawn glimmers on the soul-forsaken face;
Not we, but others, hear the bird that sings.
Sick Leave
© Siegfried Sassoon
When Im asleep, dreaming and lulled and warm,
They come, the homeless ones, the noiseless dead.
While the dim charging breakers of the storm
Bellow and drone and rumble overhead,
The Tombstone-Maker
© Siegfried Sassoon
He primmed his loose red mouth and leaned his head
Against a sorrowing angels breast, and said:
Youd think so much bereavement would have made
Unusual big demands upon my trade.
The War comes cruel hard on some poor folk;
Unless the fighting stops Ill soon be broke.
The Old Huntsman
© Siegfried Sassoon
Id have been prosperous if Id took a farm
Of fifty acres, drove my gig and haggled
At Monday markets; now Ive squandered all
My savings; nigh three hundred pound I got
As testimonial when Id grown too stiff
And slow to press a beaten fox.
Picture-Show
© Siegfried Sassoon
And still they come and go: and this is all I know
That from the gloom I watch an endless picture-show,
Where wild or listless faces flicker on their way,
With glad or grievous hearts Ill never understand
Because Time spins so fast, and theyve no time to stay
Beyond the moments gesture of a lifted hand.
The Goldsmith
© Siegfried Sassoon
'This job's the best I've done.' He bent his head
Over the golden vessel that he'd wrought.
A bird was singing. But the craftsman's thought
Is a forgotten language, lost and dead.
Autumn
© Siegfried Sassoon
October's bellowing anger breaks and cleaves
The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood
In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves
For battles fruitless harvest, and the feud
A Working Party
© Siegfried Sassoon
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.
To Any Dead Officer
© Siegfried Sassoon
Well, how are things in Heaven? I wish youd say,
Because Id like to know that youre all right.
Tell me, have you found everlasting day,
Or been sucked in by everlasting night?
To Victory
© Siegfried Sassoon
Return to greet me, colours that were my joy,
Not in the woeful crimson of men slain,
But shining as a garden; come with the streaming
Banners of dawn and sundown after rain.
Lovers
© Siegfried Sassoon
You were glad to-night: and now youve gone away.
Flushed in the dark, you put your dreams to bed;
But as you fall asleep I hear you say
Those tired sweet drowsy words we left unsaid.
Dead Musicians
© Siegfried Sassoon
. . . .
And so the song breaks off; and Im alone.
Theyre dead ... For Gods sake stop that gramophone.
