# Poems about war. **URL:** \ **Category:** Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share\ **Created:** [June 8, 2000, 6:33am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727 "2000-06-08T06:33:03Z")\ **Posts on this page:** 20\ **Page:** 1
**Author:** ![Weirddave](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/w/919ad9/32.png) [@Weirddave](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Weirddave)\ **Post date:** [June 8, 2000, 6:33am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/1 "2000-06-08T06:33:03Z")
There has been a good deal of discussion about the horror that is war and the sacrifices made by those who served around here lately, and I thought I would start a thread for folks to share their favorite war poetry. It all started with Coldfire’s absolutely wonderful thread [May 5, 1945, we shall remember.](http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?threadid=23572) I tried to express some of my feelings on [My Memorial Day](http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?threadid=25805),Lucky chimed in in his [Hey, all you veterans…](http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?threadid=25865) topic, and Veb reminded us that honor comes in many forms in [Memorial Day and honor paid](http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?threadid=25832). In the [Song lyrics that tear your heart out, stomp on it, and leave it weeping in the dust.](http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?threadid=26381) thread reference was made to several fantastic songs honoring those who served and asking “why?”, I was only 19 by Redgum and And the Band played “Waltzing Matilda” by Eric Bogle. I had never heard either of these Australian songs before and they both brought tears to my eyes. Which brings us to…poetry. Throughout history, Mankind has had the ability to express thoughts in beautiful verses that cut right to your soul. This is the thread for you to share your favorites on the subject of war. I’ll start out with two poems about WWI, the first by Robert W. Service: > [@](#): > > ``` > The March of the Dead > > ``` > > The cruel war was over – oh, the triumph was so sweet! > We watched the troops returning, through our tears; > There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glittering street, > And you scarce could hear the music for the cheers. > And you scarce could see the house-tops for the flags that flew between; > The bells were pealing madly to the sky; > And everyone was shouting for the Soldiers of the Queen, > And the glory of an age was passing by. > > And then there came a shadow, swift and sudden, dark and drear; > The bells were silent, not an echo stirred. > The flags were drooping sullenly, the men forgot to cheer; > We waited, and we never spoke a word. > The sky grew darker, darker, till from out the gloomy rack > There came a voice that checked the heart with dread: > “Tear down, tear down your bunting now, and hang up sable black; > They are coming – it’s the Army of the Dead.” > > They were coming, they were coming, gaunt and ghastly, sad and slow; > They were coming, all the crimson wrecks of pride; > With faces seared, and cheeks red smeared, and haunting eyes of woe, > And clotted holes the khaki couldn’t hide. > Oh, the clammy brow of anguish! the livid, foam-flecked lips! > The reeling ranks of ruin swept along! > The limb that trailed, the hand that failed, the bloody finger tips! > And oh, the dreary rhythm of their song! > > “They left us on the veldt-side, but we felt we couldn’t stop > On this, our England’s crowning festal day; > We’re the men of Magersfontein, we’re the men of Spion Kop, > Colenso – we’re the men who had to pay. > We’re the men who paid the blood-price. Shall the grave be all our gain? > You owe us. Long and heavy is the score. > Then cheer us for our glory now, and cheer us for our pain, > And cheer us as ye never cheered before.” > > The folks were white and stricken, > and each tongue seemed weighted with lead; > Each heart was clutched in hollow hand of ice; > And every eye was staring at the horror of the dead, > The pity of the men who paid the price. > They were come, were come to mock us, in the first flush of our peace; > Through writhing lips their teeth were all agleam; > They were coming in their thousands – oh, would they never cease! > I closed my eyes, and then – it was a dream. > > There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet gleaming street; > The town was mad; a man was like a boy. > A thousand flags were flaming where the sky and city meet; > A thousand bells were thundering the joy. > There was music, mirth and sunshine; but some eyes shone with regret; > And while we stun with cheers our homing braves, > O God, in Thy great mercy, let us nevermore forget > The graves they left behind, the bitter graves. And the second is the classic by John McCrae: > [@](#): > > IN FLANDERS FIELDS > > IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow > Between the crosses, row on row, > That mark our place, and in the sky > The larks, still bravely singing, fly > Scarce heard amid the guns below. > > We are the Dead. Short days ago > We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, > Loved and were loved, and now we lie > In Flanders fields. > > Take up our quarrel with the foe: > To you from failing hands we throw > The torch; be yours to hold it high. > If ye break faith with us who die > We shall not sleep, though poppies grow > In Flanders fields. Anyone else got any favorites? ---
**Author:** ![dropzone](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/dropzone/32/7515_2.png) [@dropzone](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/dropzone)\ **Post date:** [June 8, 2000, 7:10am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/2 "2000-06-08T07:10:41Z")
You can say one thing for WW1: it had the best poets. Siegfried Sassoon, Wilfred Owen, Robert Graves, Rupert Brooke; those who survived were never better, those who died left us asking how good they could have been, and some were brought to a completely different level by it, like Service. Even Thomas Hardy got into it shortly before the war, producing work that enabled me to see what talent he squandered on those horrid novels. My mother recited “In Flanders Fields” to me before bed, which probably explains a lot. She would also sing “Trees,” by Joyce Kilmer (of “The Fighting 69th” and killed in action while adjutant to “Wild Bill” Donovan, later of the OSS–see how EVERYTHING ties in with the CIA?) but the tune she knows and her voice made it a harrowing experience. Since Kilmer is only, if at all, known for “Trees,” I’ll respectfully submit a couple of his. MID-OCEAN IN WAR-TIME (For My Mother) THE fragile splendour of the level sea, The moon’s serene and silver-veiled face, Make of this vessel an enchanted place Full of white mirth and golden sorcery. Now, for a time, shall careless laughter be Blended with song, to lend song sweeter grace, And the old stars, in their unending race, Shall heed and envy young humanity. And yet to-night, a hundred leagues away, These waters blush a strange and awful red. Before the moon, a cloud obscenely grey Rises from decks that crash with flying lead. And these stars smile their immemorial way On waves that shroud a thousand newly dead! IN MEMORY OF RUPERT BROOKE IN alien earth, across a troubled sea His body lies that was so fair and young. His mouth is stopped, with half his songs unsung; His arm is still, that struck to make men free. But let no cloud of lamentation be Where, on a warrior’s grave, a lyre is hung. We keep the echoes of his golden tongue, We keep the vision of his chivalry. So Israel’s joy, the loveliest of kings, Smote now his harp, and now the hostile horde. To-day the starry roof of Heaven rings With psalms a soldier made to praise his Lord; And David rests beneath Eternal wings, Song on his lips, and in his hand a sword. ---
**Author:** ![ChiefScott](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/c/58f4c7/32.png) [@ChiefScott](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/ChiefScott)\ **Post date:** [June 8, 2000, 10:25am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/3 "2000-06-08T10:25:51Z")
The Charge of the Light Brigade ---
**Author:** ![Girlbysea](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/g/c6cbf5/32.png) [@Girlbysea](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Girlbysea)\ **Post date:** [June 8, 2000, 10:34am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/4 "2000-06-08T10:34:31Z")
“OLD GLORY” ---
**Author:** ![Shirley\_Ujest](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/45deac/32.png) [@Shirley\_Ujest](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Shirley_Ujest)\ **Post date:** [June 8, 2000, 10:58am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/5 "2000-06-08T10:58:22Z")
I have one, but I don’t know the exact title or writer. I first heard it on Green Linnet Records 20th Anniversary CD. I think it’s by Eric Bogle. The first line goes like this: Well, how do you do, Private William McBride Do you mind if I sit down here by your grave side. (It’s lyrics haunt me.) PS - War is stupid ---
**Author:** ![CanadianSue](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/c/71e660/32.png) [@CanadianSue](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/CanadianSue)\ **Post date:** [June 8, 2000, 11:44am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/6 "2000-06-08T11:44:19Z")
Onward! Christian Soldiers Onward! Christian Soldiers, Strive to keep the peace! Spread the Christian message, That all wars must cease. Between warring factions, Men and women go. Facing ev’ry danger, Doubt and fear they know. From within our nation, Coast to coast to coast, Send to them our prayer, Joining heav’nly hosts. Spirit, give them comfort, Bid an end to fear. Send to them assurance, Of your presence near. Of the great reversal We will sing your praise. Humble those with power, May the meek you raise. In a world of weapons, They seek to disarm. Go with our peacekeepers, Keeping them from harm. My dad used to sing this hymn. He was in WWII, The Governer General’s Horse Guards, March, 1943 - April, 1946 ---
**Author:** ![dpr](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/d/8797f3/32.png) [@dpr](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/dpr)\ **Post date:** [June 8, 2000, 11:57am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/7 "2000-06-08T11:57:54Z")
Would I be too flippant if I added a poem I wrote when I was ten? WAR War is hate for one another is it fate or just each In war we just can’t turn our head Without thought for those now dead Or of the now-widowed brides Haunted all - ruined lives ---
**Author:** ![dropzone](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/dropzone/32/7515_2.png) [@dropzone](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/dropzone)\ **Post date:** [June 8, 2000, 3:01pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/8 "2000-06-08T15:01:13Z")
Shirley, here it is. I had forgotten about it. Maybe “forgotten” should read “blocked out.” It’s a sad 'un. Americans may wonder at a seeming preoccupation the British have with WWI. If you think that they lost as many men on the first day of the Battle of Verdun as we lost in Vietnam, it comes into perspective. Willie McBride Melody - Irish traditional Eric Bogle Well how do you do Private William McBride, Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside? And rest for awhile beneath the warm summer sun, I’ve been walking all day and now I’m nearly done I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916; Well I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean, Or, young Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene? Refrain: Did they beat the drum slowly, Did they play the fife lowly? Did they sound the Death March As they lowered you down? Did the band play “The Last Post And Chorus?” Did the pipes play “The Flowers Of The Forest?” Did you leave 'ere a wife or a sweetheart behind? In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined? And although you died back in 1916, In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen? Or are you a stranger without even a name, Enclosed forever behind a glass pane, In an old photograph, torn, and battered and stained, And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame? Refrain: Ah the sun now it shines on these green fields of France, The warm summer breeze makes the red poppies dance, And look how the sun shines from under the clouds; There’s no gas, no barbed wire, there’re no guns firing now. But here in this graveyard is still No Man’s Land, The countless white crosses in mute witness stand To man’s blind indifference to his fellow man, To a whole generation that was butchered and damned. Refrain: Ah, young Willie McBride, I can’t help wonder why, Did all those who lay here really know why they died? And did they believe when they answered the call, Did they really believe that this war would end war? For the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain, The killing and dying were all done in vain, For, young Willie McBride, it all happened again, And again and again and again and again. Refrain: For Chief Scott: Charge of the Light Brigade Alfred Lord Tennyson Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. “Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!” he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. “Forward, the Light Brigade!” Was there a man dismayed? Not tho’ the soldiers knew Someone had blundered: Theirs was not to make reply, Theirs was not to reason why, Theirs was but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to the right of them, Cannon to the left of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thunder’d; Storm’d at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell, Rode the six hundred. Flashed all their sabres bare, Flashed as they turned in air, Sab’ring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered: Plunging in the battery smoke, Right through the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. Then they rode back, but not– Not the six hundred. Cannon to the right of them, Cannon to the left of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that fought so well, Came thro’ the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of the six hundred. When can their glory fade? Oh, the wild charge they made! All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made! Honor the Light Brigade, Noble Six Hundred! I haven’t found “Old Glory” yet. ---
**Author:** ![Gilligan](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/g/e0b2c6/32.png) [@Gilligan](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Gilligan)\ **Post date:** [June 8, 2000, 3:18pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/9 "2000-06-08T15:18:25Z")
Where have all the flowers gone? Long time passing Where have all the flowers gone? Long time ago Where have all the flowers gone? Girls have picked them every one When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn? Where have all the young girls gone? Long time passing Where have all the young girls gone? Long time ago Where have all the young girls gone? Taken husbands every one When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn? Where have all the young men gone? Long time passing Where have all the young men gone? Long time ago Where have all the young men gone? Gone for soldiers every one When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn? Where have all the soldiers gone? Long time passing Where have all the soldiers gone? Long time ago Where have all the soldiers gone? Gone to graveyards every one When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn? Where have all the graveyards gone? Long time passing Where have all the graveyards gone? Long time ago Where have all the graveyards gone? Covered with flowers every one When will we ever learn? When will we ever learn? ---
**Author:** ![Rodd\_Hill](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/r/3ab097/32.png) [@Rodd\_Hill](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Rodd_Hill)\ **Post date:** [June 8, 2000, 9:38pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/10 "2000-06-08T21:38:56Z")
Two poems by John Pudney, who served in the British Royal Air Force, 1939-45; **For Johnny** _(1941)_ Do not despair For Johnny-head-in-air; He sleeps as sound As Johnny underground. Fetch out no shroud For Johnny-in-the-cloud; And keep your tears For him in after years. Better by far For Johnny-the-bright-star, To keep your head And see his children fed. **Missing** _(1942)_ Less said the better. The bill unpaid, the dead letter, No roses at the end Of Smith, my friend. Last words don’t matter, And there are none to flatter. Words will not fill the post Of Smith, the ghost. For Smith, our brother, Only son of loving mother, The ocean lifted, stirred, Leaving no word. Charles Causey **Song of the Dying Gunner A.A.1** Oh mother my mouth is full of stars As cartridges in the tray My blood is a twin-branched scarlet tree And it runs, all runs away. Oh _Cooks to the Galley_ is sounded off And the lads are down in the mess But I lie done by the forward gun With a bullet in my breast. Henry Reed **Naming of Parts** Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday, We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow morning, We shall have what to do after firing. But today, Today we have naming of parts. Japonica Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens, And today we have naming of parts. This is the lower sling swivel. And this Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see, When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel, Which in your case you have not got. The branches Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures, Which in our case we have not got. This is the safety-catch, which is always released With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see Any of them using their finger. And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers: They call it easing the Spring. They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt, And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance, Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards, For today we have naming of parts. Siegrfied Sassoon **Attack** (from The Old Huntsman) At dawn the ridge emerges massed and dun In the wild purple of the glow’ring sun, Smouldering through spouts of drifting smoke that shroud The menacing scarred slope; and, one by one, Tanks creep and topple forward to the wire. The barrage roars and lifts. Then, clumsily bowed With bombs and guns and shovels and battle-gear, Men jostle and climb to meet the bristling fire. Lines of grey, muttering faces, masked with fear, They leave their trenches, going over the top, While time ticks blank and busy on their wrists, And hope, with furtive eyes and grappling fists, Flounders in mud. O Jesus, make it stop! **The General** ‘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 we’re cursing his staff for incompetent swine. ‘He’s a cheery old card,’ grunted Harry to Jack As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack. But he did for them both by his plan of attack. I strongly recommend Paul Fussel’s brilliant book **The Great War and Modern Memory** , which examines the way in which the experience of the front line was expressed, in poetry and prose, by the troops themselves, and by the public at home. For a deeply moving reading of war poetry, order the CD “Lest We Forget,” on Warner/Teldec (#0630 10201-2). It is unforgettable. Recitations of First and Second World War poetry, accompanied by suitable classical music by the BBC Symphony Orchestra. The readers are well-known British actors like Derek Jacobi and the late Sir John Gielgud (whose reading of “In Flanders Fields” will send shivers down your spine). It will be a special order import, but worth it. ---
**Author:** ![Osip](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/o/4491bb/32.png) [@Osip](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Osip)\ **Post date:** [June 8, 2000, 11:53pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/11 "2000-06-08T23:53:27Z")
SO MANY TIMES I’VE SEEN… So many times I’ve seen hand-to-hand combat. Once for real, and a thousand times in dreams. Whoever says that war is not horrible, Knows nothing about war. -Yuliya Drunina- Osip ---
**Author:** ![yojimbo](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/yojimbo/32/232_2.png) [@yojimbo](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/yojimbo)\ **Post date:** [June 9, 2000, 12:07am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/12 "2000-06-09T00:07:48Z")
I’m clueless when it comes to poetry but this thread is fantastic . Thx all. ---
**Author:** ![Eutychus](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/e/a3d4f5/32.png) [@Eutychus](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Eutychus)\ **Post date:** [June 9, 2000, 12:25am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/13 "2000-06-09T00:25:17Z")
(As recorded by Steeleye Span) A recruiting sergeant came my way, To an inn nearby at the break of day. He said: “Young Johnny you’re a fine young man, Do you want to march along behind a military band, With a scarlet coat, a big cocked hat And a musket on your shoulder?” A shilling he took and he kissed the book, Oh Johnny, what will happen to ya? What makes you go abroad, fighting for strangers, When you could be safe at home, free from all dangers? The recruiting sergeant marched away, From the inn nearby at the break of day. Johnny went too, with half ring, He was off to be a soldier, he’d be fighting for the king, In a far off war, in a far off land, To face a foreign soldier. But how will he fare when there’s lead in the air, Oh poor Johnny, what will happen to ya? What makes you go abroad, fighting for strangers, When you could be safe at home, free from all dangers? The sun shone high on a barren land, As a thin red line took the military stand. Sling shot, chain shot, grape shot too, Swords and bayonets thrusting through, Poor Johnny fell but the day was won And the King is grateful to ya. With your soldier deeds done, we’re sending you home, Oh poor Johnny, what have they done to ya? What makes you go abroad fighting for strangers, When you could be safe at home, free from all dangers? Oh, they said he was a hero and not to grieve Over two wooden legs and an empty sleeve. They carried him home and they sat him down With a military pension and a medal from the crown. You haven’t an arm, you haven’t a leg, The enemy nearly slew ya. You’ have to be put with a bowl to beg, Oh poor Johnny what have they done to ya? What makes you go abroad, fighting for strangers, When you could be safe at home, free from all dangers? ---
**Author:** ![Shirley\_Ujest](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/45deac/32.png) [@Shirley\_Ujest](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Shirley_Ujest)\ **Post date:** [June 9, 2000, 1:14am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/14 "2000-06-09T01:14:33Z")
Dropzone, thank you for finding the lyrics for me. I’m printing this entire thread out for future reference. BTW, being out of touch with the real world, is registering for the draft still mandatory for 18 year old males. I thought I read soemthing about stopping it. ---
**Author:** ![London\_Calling](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/l/49beb7/32.png) [@London\_Calling](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/London_Calling)\ **Post date:** [June 9, 2000, 1:29am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/15 "2000-06-09T01:29:04Z")
Rupert Brook wrote this while in the trenches where he also died in 1915, aged 28: The Soldier 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 ways to roam, A body of England’s, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven. IMHO, Brook is worthy of deeper investigation as are his contemporaries Stephen Spender and, particulary, Wilfred Owen who also died later in WW1. ---
**Author:** ![London\_Calling](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/l/49beb7/32.png) [@London\_Calling](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/London_Calling)\ **Post date:** [June 9, 2000, 1:45am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/16 "2000-06-09T01:45:29Z")
dropzone said:. “Americans may wonder at a seeming preoccupation the British have with WWI. If you think that they lost as many men on the first day of the Battle of Verdun as we lost in Vietnam, it comes into perspective.” Not sure if it’s a preoccupation but maybe it is. It is worth remembering the numbers. Britain lost 1 million soldiers at a time when the country’s population was probably less than 30 million. Measuring that against today’s US population (of 260-270 million), the equivilant number of death’s would be 9 million soldiers in 4 years. Just difficult to believe it happened. ---
**Author:** ![Johnny\_Angel](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/j/d26b3c/32.png) [@Johnny\_Angel](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Johnny_Angel)\ **Post date:** [June 9, 2000, 2:47am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/17 "2000-06-09T02:47:59Z")
An so far, not a Housman in the bunch. Well, let’s set that straight. **A. E. Housman** **XXXV** ``` On the idle hill of summer, Sleepy with the flow of streams, Far I hear the steady drummer Drumming like a noise in dreams. Far and near and low and louder On the roads of earth go by, Dear to friends and food for powder, Soldiers marching, all to die. East and west on fields forgotten Bleach the bones of comrades slain, Lovely lads and dead and rotten; None that go return again. Far the calling bugles hollo, High the screaming fife replies, Gay the files of scarlet follow: Woman bore me, I will rise. ``` **The Day of Battle** ``` "Far I hear the bugle blow To call me where I would not go, And the guns begin the song, 'Soldier, fly or stay for long.' "Comrade, if to turn and fly Made a soldier never die, Fly I would, for who would not? 'Tis sure no pleasure to be shot. "But since the man that runs away Lives to die another day, And cowards' funerals, when they come, Are not wept so well at home, "Therefore, though the best is bad, Stand and do the best, my lad; Stand and fight and see your slain, And take the bullet in your brain." ``` I forget the title to this one: Here dead we lie because we did not choose To live and shame the land from which we sprung. Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose; But young men think it is, and we were young. **Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries** These in the days when Heaven was falling, That hour when Earth’s foundations fled, Followed their mercenary calling And took their wages, and are dead. Their shoulders held the sky suspended, They stood, and Earth’s foundation stayed. What God abandoned, these defended, And saved the sum of things for pay. ---
**Author:** ![soulsling](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/a5b964/32.png) [@soulsling](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/soulsling)\ **Post date:** [June 9, 2000, 3:07am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/18 "2000-06-09T03:07:49Z")
**FOLLOW ME** From Concord Bridge to Heartbreak Ridge- Through swamps and mountain and sand They fight and die where brave men lie, Against all tyrants they stand You can hear it in the heat of the jungle. You can hear it across the sea. It calls to ev’ry freedom loving man, The cry of the U.S. Infantry- “Follow me, follow me.” These men are strong as the land they love, They’ve fought through history. Because of them in the years to come, All children will be free. You can hear it in the heat of the jungle. You can hear it across the sea. It calls to ev’ry freedom loving man, The cry of the U.S. Infantry- “Follow me, follow me.” They march by land, they drop by air, Victorious they will see- The world rebuilt as all men dare To follow the Infantry. You can hear it in the heat of the jungle. You can hear it across the sea. It calls to ev’ry freedom loving man, The cry of the U.S. Infantry- “Follow me, follow me.” and my most favorite: **THE INFANTRYMAN’S CREED** I am the Infantry. I am my country’s strength in war, her deterrent in peace. I am the heart of the fight- wherever, whenever. I carry America’s faith and honor against her enemies. I am the Queen of Battle. I am what my country expects me to be- the best trained soldier in the world. In the race for victory, I am swift, determined, and courageous, armed with a fierce will to win. Never will i fail my country’s trust, Always I fight on- through the foe, to the objective to triumph over all. If necessary, I fight to my death. By my steadfast courage, I have won 200 years of freedom. I yield not- to weakness to hunger to cowardice to fatigue to superior odds for I am mentally tough, physically strong, and morally straight. I forsake not- my country my mission my comrades my sacred duty. I am relentless I am always there, now and forever, I AM THE INFANTRY! FOLLOW ME! ---
**Author:** ![dropzone](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/dropzone/32/7515_2.png) [@dropzone](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/dropzone)\ **Post date:** [June 9, 2000, 3:35am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/19 "2000-06-09T03:35:20Z")
Here’s a classic. It was my father’s favorite. ‘High Flight’ by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee Jr. (A Yank in the RCAF, killed over England 12/11/41) Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there. I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or even eagle flew. And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod The high untrespassed sanctitiy of space Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. Here’s one from what my wife calls my “greatest hits of the sixties” tape. TENTING ON THE OLD CAMPGROUND Walter Kittridge, 1864 We’re tenting tonight on the old campground, Give us a song to cheer Our weary hearts, a song of home, And friends we love so dear. Chorus: Many are the hearts that are weary tonight, Wishing for the war to cease, Many are the hearts, looking for the right, To see the dawn of peace. Tenting tonight, tenting tonight, Tenting on the old campground. We’ve been tenting tonight on the old campground, Thinking of days gone by; Of the loved ones at home that gave us the hand, And the tear that said “goodbye!” Chorus: We’ve been fighting today on the old campground, Many are lying near, Some are dead and some are dying, Many are in tears. Last Chorus: Many are the hearts that are weary tonight, Wishing for the war to cease, Many are the hearts, looking for the right, To see the dawn of peace. Dying tonight, dying tonight, Dying on the old campground. And, because I found it, and always wanted to know the lyrics (I love the internet!). A little (!) jingoistic. You can see why he mostly stuck with music instead of lyrics. ‘The Stars and Stripes Forever’ by John Philips Sousa Let martial note in triumph float And liberty extend its mighty hand A flag appears 'mid thunderous cheers, The banner of the Western land. The emblem of the brave and true Its folds protect no tyrant crew; The red and white and starry blue Is freedom’s shield and hope. Other nations may deem their flags the best And cheer them with fervid elation But the flag of the North and South and West Is the flag of flags, the flag of Freedom’s nation. Hurrah for the flag of the free! May it wave as our standard forever, The gem of the land and the sea, The banner of the right. Let despots remember the day When our fathers with mighty endeavor Proclaimed as they marched to the fray That by their might and by their right It waves forever. Let eagle shriek from lofty peak The never-ending watchword of our land; Let summer breeze waft through the trees The echo of the chorus grand. Sing out for liberty and light, Sing out for freedom and the right. Sing out for Union and its might, O patriotic sons. Other nations may deem their flags the best And cheer them with fervid elation, But the flag of the North and South and West Is the flag of flags, the flag of Freedom’s nation. Hurrah for the flag of the free. May it wave as our standard forever The gem of the land and the sea, The banner of the right. Let despots remember the day When our fathers with might endeavor Proclaimed as they marched to the fray, That by their might and by their right It waves forever. ---
**Author:** ![Apollyon](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/apollyon/32/4238_2.png) [@Apollyon](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Apollyon)\ **Post date:** [June 9, 2000, 4:07am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727/20 "2000-06-09T04:07:37Z")
Read every year at ANZAC Day services in New Zealand (and I understand at Armistice services across Britain), are these lines from **For The Fallen** , a poem by _Laurence Binyon_ (1869 - 1943): They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down on the sun and in the morning We will remember them. Referring to these lines, the english poet, _Roger McGough_, wrote a poem which IIRC is called **Picnics** and goes: At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, I try to remember them, But their names are ordinary names, And their causes are thighbones, Tugged excitedly from the soil, By french children, On picnics. [Next page](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/poems-about-war/21727.md?page=2)