Siegfried Sassoon

(1886 - 1967 / Kent / England)

Siegfried Sassoon Poems

1. Ex-Service 3/31/2010
2. Sporting Acquaintances 3/31/2010
3. The Road 3/31/2010
4. Christ And The Soldier 11/25/2014
5. Before Day 3/31/2010
6. The Portrait 3/31/2010
7. In An Underground Dressing Station 3/31/2010
8. The Road To Ruin 3/31/2010
9. Solar Eclipse 3/31/2010
10. To Leonide Massine In ‘cleopatra’ 1/3/2003
11. Sassoon's Public Statement Of Defiance 3/31/2010
12. The Redeemer 3/31/2010
13. Microcosmos 3/31/2010
14. The Triumph 3/31/2010
15. The Rear-Guard 3/31/2010
16. Because We Are Going 3/31/2010
17. The Goldsmith 1/3/2003
18. The Hawthorn Tree 1/3/2003
19. Prelude: The Troops 3/31/2010
20. Grandeur Of Ghosts 3/31/2010
21. What The Captain Said At The Point-To-Point 1/3/2003
22. Today 1/3/2003
23. Villon 1/3/2003
24. The Heritage 1/3/2003
25. South Wind 1/3/2003
26. Morning-Land 1/3/2003
27. Invocation 1/3/2003
28. The Working Party 1/3/2003
29. Storm And Sunlight 1/3/2003
30. The Investiture 1/3/2003
31. Goblin Revel 1/3/2003
32. Fancy Dress 1/3/2003
33. Thrushes 1/3/2003
34. The Redeemer 1/3/2003
35. The Fathers 1/3/2003
36. The Road 1/3/2003
37. Joy-Bells 1/3/2003
38. Twelve Months After 1/3/2003
39. The Dark House 1/3/2003
40. The Hero 3/31/2010
Best Poem of Siegfried Sassoon

Suicide In The Trenches

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With 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 eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Read the full of Suicide In The Trenches

I Stood With The Dead

I Stood with the Dead, so forsaken and still:
When dawn was grey I stood with the Dead.
And my slow heart said, 'You must kill, you must kill:
'Soldier, soldier, morning is red'.

On the shapes of the slain in their crumpled disgrace
I stared for a while through the thin cold rain...
'O lad that I loved, there is rain on your face,
'And your eyes are blurred and sick like the plain.'

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