Vera Mary Brittain (29 December 1893 – 29 March 1970) was an English writer, feminist and pacifist, best remembered as the author of the best-selling 1933 memoir Testament of Youth, recounting her experiences during World War I and the beginning of her journey towards pacifism.
Born in Newcastle-under-Lyme, Brittain was the daughter of a well-to-do family that owned paper mills in ... more »
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Vera Brittain Poems
Perhaps (To R.A.L.)
Perhaps some day the sun will shine again, And I shall see that still the skies are blue, And feel once more I do not live in vain,
To My Brother (In Memory of July 1st, 19...
Your battle-wounds are scars upon my heart, Received when in that grand and tragic 'show' You played your part, Two years ago,
The Superfluous Woman
Ghosts crying down the vistas of the years, Recalling words Whose echoes long have died, And kind moss grown
When you have lost your all in a world's upheaval, Suffered and prayed, and found your prayers were vain, When love is dead, and hope has no renewal - These need you still; come back to them again.
The Lament of the Demobilised
'Four years,' some say consolingly. 'Oh well, What's that ? You're young. And then it must have been A very fine experience for you !'
Quotationsmore quotations »
''Politics are usually the executive expression of human immaturity.''Vera Brittain (1896-1970), British author, pacifist. The Rebel Passion, ch. 1 (1964).
Comments about Vera Brittain
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Perhaps (To R.A.L.)
Perhaps some day the sun will shine again,
And I shall see that still the skies are blue,
And feel once more I do not live in vain,
Although bereft of You.
Perhaps the golden meadows at my feet
Will make the sunny hours of spring seem gay,
And I shall find the white May-blossoms sweet,
Though You have passed away.
Perhaps the summer woods will shimmer bright,
And crimson roses once again be fair,
And autumn harvest fields a rich delight,
Although You are not there.
Perhaps some day I shall not shrink in pain
To see the passing of the dying ...