Seeing we never found gay fairyland
(Though still we crouched by bluebells moon by moon)
And missed the tide of Lethe; yet are soon
For that new bridge that leaves old Styx half-spanned;
Nor ever unto Mecca caravanned;
Nor bugled Asgard, skilled in magic rune;
Nor yearned for far Nirvana, the sweet swoon,
And from high Paradise are cursed and banned;
-Let's die home, ferry across the Channel! Thus
Shall we live gods there. Death shall be no sev'rance.
Weary cathedrals light new shrines for us.
To us, rough knees of boys shall ache with rev'rence.
Are not girls' breasts a clear, strong Acropole?
-There our oun mothers' tears shall heal us whole.
War cuts like a dispassionate knife Art and poetry in its ruthless path And yet the best of poem was so writ In trenches of strife with grieving hearts
A good poem worth for reading and enjoying and understanding the innermost thoughts of the poet about the life and the inevitable death in such a situation.
I take the opportunity to read once more the poem and likes to understand it and great poet's words a wonderful creation.
An insightful rendition in verse with rhythmic splendour. A beautiful work of art.......
A powerful poem on war. Very touching lines embellished with images that strike the core of heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Profound and haunting. This is the sadness that war engenders in the human heart.