“O, but EveryoneWas a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.”

“EVERYONE suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delightAs prisoned birds must find in freedom,Winging wildly across the white Orchards and dark-green fields; on—on—and out of sight. Everyone’s voice was suddenly lifted; And beauty came like the setting sun: My heart was shaken with tears; and horror Drifted away ... O, but EveryoneWas a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.”

“They march from safety, and the bird-sung joyOf grass-green thickets, to the land where allIs ruin, and nothing blossoms but the sky”

“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.”

“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”

“Dim, gradual thinning of the shapeless gloomShudders to drizzling daybreak that revealsDisconsolate men who stamp their sodden bootsAnd turn dulled, sunken faces to the skyHaggard and hopeless. They, who have beaten downThe stale despair of night, must now renewTheir desolation in the truce of dawn,Murdering the livid hours that grope for peace.Yet these, who cling to life with stubborn hands,Can grin through storms of death and find a gapIn the clawed, cruel tangles of his defence.They march from safety, and the bird-sung joyOf grass-green thickets, to the land where allIs ruin, and nothing blossoms but the skyThat hastens over them where they endureSad, smoking, flat horizons, reeking woods,And foundered trench-lines volleying doom for doom.O my brave brown companions, when your soulsFlock silently away, and the eyeless dead,Shame the wild beast of battle on the ridge,Death will stand grieving in that field of warSince your unvanquished hardihood is spent.And through some mooned Valhalla there will passBattalions and battalions, scarred from hell;The unreturning army that was youth;The legions who have suffered and are dust.”

“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.”