“Dark clouds are smouldering into red While down the craters morning burns.The dying soldier shifts his head To watch the glory that returns:He lifts his fingers toward the skies Where holy brightness breaks in flame;Radiance reflected in his eyes, And on his lips a whispered name.”

“Suicide in the trenches:I knew a simple soldier boyWho grinned at life in empty joy,Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,And whistled early with the lark.In winter trenches, cowed and glumWith crumps and lice and lack of rum,He put a bullet through his brain.No one spoke of him again. * * * * *You smug-faced crowds with kindling eyeWho cheer when soldier lads march by,Sneak home and pray you'll never knowThe hell where youth and laughter go.”

“You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you'll never know The hell where youth and laughter go." "The War Poems”

“His wet white face and miserable eyesBrought nurses to him more than groans and sighs:But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fellHis troubled voice: he did the business well.(First verse of Died of Wounds)”

“Before the Battle:Music of whispering treesHushed by the broad-winged breezeWhere shaken water gleams;And evening radiance fallingWith reedy bird-notes calling.O bear me safe through dark, you low-voiced streams.I have no need to prayThat fear may pass away;I scorn the growl and rumble of the fightThat summons me from coolSilence of marsh and pool,And yellow lilies islanded in light.O river of stars and shadows, lead me through the night.”

“Who's this—alone with stone and sky?It's only my old dog and I—It's only him; it's only me;Alone with stone and grass and tree. What share we most—we two together?Smells, and awareness of the weather.What is it makes us more than dust?My trust in him; in me his trust.”

“Have you forgotten yet?...For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flowLike clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.But the past is just the same--and War's a bloody game...Have you forgotten yet?...Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at MametzThe nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?Do you remember the rats; and the stenchOf corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench--And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?Do you ever stop and ask, 'Is it all going to happen again?'Do you remember that hour of din before the attack--And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you thenAs you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching backWith dying eyes and lolling heads--those ashen-greyMasks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?Have you forgotten yet?...Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget.”