Poems begining by T
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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.
Twelve Months After
© Siegfried Sassoon
. . . .
Old soldiers never die; they simply fide a-why!
Thats what they used to sing along the roads last spring;
Thats what they used to say before the push began;
Thats where they are to-day, knocked over to a man.
To a Childless Woman
© Siegfried Sassoon
You think I cannot understand. Ah, but I do...
I have been wrung with anger and compassion for you.
I wonder if youd loathe my pity, if you knew.
To His Dead Body
© Siegfried Sassoon
When roaring gloom surged inward and you cried,
Groping for friendly hands, and clutched, and died,
Like racing smoke, swift from your lolling head
phantoms of thought and memory thinned and fled.
Trench Duty
© Siegfried Sassoon
Shaken from sleep, and numbed and scarce awake,
Out in the trench with three hours watch to take,
I blunder through the splashing mirk; and then
Hear the gruff muttering voices of the men
The Redeemer
© Siegfried Sassoon
Darkness: the rain sluiced down; the mire was deep;
It was past twelve on a mid-winter night,
When peaceful folk in beds lay snug asleep;
There, with much work to do before the light,
The Death-Bed
© Siegfried Sassoon
He drowsed and was aware of silence heaped
Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls;
Aqueous like floating rays of amber light,
Soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep.
Silence and safety; and his mortal shore
Lipped by the inward, moonless waves of death.
The Poet as Hero
© Siegfried Sassoon
You've heard me, scornful, harsh, and discontented,
Mocking and loathing War: you've asked me why
Of my old, silly sweetness I've repented--
My ecstasies changed to an ugly cry.
The One-Legged Man
© Siegfried Sassoon
Propped on a stick he viewed the August weald;
Squat orchard trees and oasts with painted cowls;
A homely, tangled hedge, a corn-stalked field,
And sound of barking dogs and farmyard fowls.
The Fathers
© Siegfried Sassoon
Snug at the club two fathers sat,
Gross, goggle-eyed, and full of chat.
One of them said: My eldest lad
Writes cheery letters from Bagdad.
But Arthurs getting all the fun
At Arras with his nine-inch gun.
The Rear-Guard
© Siegfried Sassoon
Groping along the tunnel, step by step,
He winked his prying torch with patching glare
From side to side, and sniffed the unwholesome air.
The General
© Siegfried Sassoon
Good-morning; good-morning! the General said
When we met him last week on our way to the line.
Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of em dead,
And were cursing his staff for incompetent swine.
Hes a cheery old card, grunted Harry to Jack
As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack.
The Dragon & The Undying
© Siegfried Sassoon
All night the flares go up; the Dragon sings
And beats upon the dark with furious wings;
And, stung to rage by his own darting fires,
Reaches with grappling coils from town to town;
'They'
© Siegfried Sassoon
The Bishop tells us: 'When the boys come back
'They will not be the same; for they'll have fought
'In a just cause: they lead the last attack
'On Anti-Christ; their comrades' blood has bought
'New right to breed an honourable race,
'They have challenged Death and dared him face to face.'
The Kiss
© Siegfried Sassoon
To these I turn, in these I trust;
Brother Lead and Sister Steel.
To his blind power I make appeal;
I guard her beauty clean from rust.
To My Brother
© Siegfried Sassoon
Give me your hand, my brother, search my face;
Look in these eyes lest I should think of shame;
For we have made an end of all things base.
We are returning by the road we came.
The Dug-Out
© Siegfried Sassoon
Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled,
And one arm bent across your sullen, cold,
Exhausted face? It hurts my heart to watch you,
Deep-shadowed from the candle's guttering gold;
To L. H. B. (1894-1915 )
© Katherine Mansfield
Last night for the first time since you were dead
I walked with you, my brother, in a dream.
We were at home again beside the stream
Fringed with tall berry bushes, white and red.
To God the Father
© Katherine Mansfield
To the little, pitiful God I make my prayer,
The God with the long grey beard
And flowing robe fastened with a hempen girdle
Who sits nodding and muttering on the all-too-big throne
There was a Child Once
© Katherine Mansfield
There was a child once.
He came--quite alone--to play in my garden;
He was pale and silent.
When we met we kissed each other,
But when he went away, we did not even wave
