Siegfried Sassoon

(1886 - 1967 / Kent / England)

Siegfried Sassoon Poems

121. The Goldsmith 1/3/2003
122. The Hawthorn Tree 1/3/2003
123. The Heritage 1/3/2003
124. The Hero 3/31/2010
125. The Imperfect Lover 1/3/2003
126. The Investiture 1/3/2003
127. The Kiss 1/3/2003
128. The Last Meeting 1/3/2003
129. The One-Legged Man 1/3/2003
130. The Poet As Hero 1/3/2003
131. The Portrait 3/31/2010
132. The Rear-Guard 3/31/2010
133. The Rear-Guard 1/3/2003
134. The Redeemer 1/3/2003
135. The Redeemer 3/31/2010
136. The Road 3/31/2010
137. The Road 1/3/2003
138. The Road To Ruin 3/31/2010
139. The Tombstone-Maker 1/3/2003
140. The Triumph 3/31/2010
141. The Troops 1/3/2003
142. The Working Party 1/3/2003
143. Their Frailty 1/3/2003
144. 'They' 1/3/2003
145. Thrushes 1/3/2003
146. To A Childless Woman 1/3/2003
147. To A Very Wise Man 1/3/2003
148. To Any Dead Officer 1/3/2003
149. To His Dead Body 1/3/2003
150. To Leonide Massine In ‘cleopatra’ 1/3/2003
151. To My Brother 1/3/2003
152. To Victory 1/3/2003
153. Today 1/3/2003
154. Together 1/3/2003
155. Tree And Sky 1/3/2003
156. Trench Duty 1/3/2003
157. Twelve Months After 1/3/2003
158. Two Hundred Years After 1/3/2003
159. Villon 1/3/2003
160. Vision 1/3/2003
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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