Siegfried Sassoon

(1886 - 1967 / Kent / England)

Siegfried Sassoon Poems

41. Wonderment 1/3/2003
42. Stand-To: Good Friday Morning 1/3/2003
43. The Dark House 1/3/2003
44. Tree And Sky 1/3/2003
45. To A Very Wise Man 1/3/2003
46. The Choral Union 1/3/2003
47. Nimrod In September 1/3/2003
48. Song-Books Of The War 1/3/2003
49. Night On The Convoy 1/3/2003
50. Dream-Forest 1/3/2003
51. Dryads 1/3/2003
52. Wisdom 1/3/2003
53. Slumber-Song 1/3/2003
54. Their Frailty 1/3/2003
55. The Tombstone-Maker 1/3/2003
56. Vision 1/3/2003
57. The Redeemer 1/3/2003
58. Idyll 1/3/2003
59. Morning Express 1/3/2003
60. Miracles 1/3/2003
61. Middle-Ages 1/3/2003
62. Before Day 1/3/2003
63. The Hero 3/31/2010
64. On Passing The New Menin Gate 3/31/2010
65. Night-Piece 1/3/2003
66. Falling Asleep 1/3/2003
67. Noah 1/3/2003
68. The Dreamers 1/3/2003
69. Wind In The Beechwood 1/3/2003
70. The Troops 1/3/2003
71. Prelude To An Unwritten Masterpiece 1/3/2003
72. Limitations 1/3/2003
73. Companions 1/3/2003
74. The Dream 1/3/2003
75. Concert Party 1/3/2003
76. Picture-Show 1/3/2003
77. In Barracks 1/3/2003
78. October 1/3/2003
79. To His Dead Body 1/3/2003
80. Sick Leave 1/3/2003

Comments about Siegfried Sassoon

  • Jhon Smith (12/2/2016 6:18:00 AM)

    my Favourite poem by him is Attack

    26 person liked.
    27 person did not like.
  • Ferg Fred Ferg Fred (12/2/2016 6:10:00 AM)

    thank u for the likes my mother likes the attention im getting

  • Ferg Fred Ferg Fred (12/2/2016 6:08:00 AM)

    this poem makes me feel young again
    inspirational

    yours sinsirly

    ferg fred

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (3/2/2016 2:16:00 PM)

    One of the great poets from World War I, Sassoon was also known for his fictionalised autobiographies, praised for their evocation of English country life.

  • Lord Andrew Barham (3/18/2015 8:22:00 AM)

    Get rid of the goddamned video voice over – it's about as poetic as a sore arsehole!

  • Tim Williams (4/24/2007 9:25:00 PM)

    This is interesting

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

The Hawthorn Tree

Not much to me is yonder lane
Where I go every day;
But when there’s been a shower of rain
And hedge-birds whistle gay,
I know my lad that’s out in France
With fearsome things to see
Would give his eyes for just one glance
At our white hawthorn tree.

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