Classic and Contemporary Poetry
HE WENT FOR A SOLDIER, by RUTH COMFORT MITCHELL Poet's Biography First Line: He marched away with a blithe young score of him Last Line: Borne with the hell called war! Alternate Author Name(s): Young, Sanborn, Mrs. Subject(s): Death; Life Change Events; Loss; Soldiers; Women; World War I; Youth; Dead, The; First World War | ||||||||
He marched away with a blithe young score of him With the first volunteers, Clear-eyed and clean and sound to the core of him, Blushing under the cheers. They were fine, new flags that swung a-flying there, Oh, the pretty girls he glimpsed a-crying there, Pelting him with pinks and with roses Billy, the soldier Boy! Not very clear in the kind young heart of him What the fuss was about, But the flowers and the flags seemed part of him The music drowned his doubt. It's a fine, brave sight they were a-coming there To the gay, bold tune they kept a-drumming there, While the boasting fifes shrilled jauntily Billy, the Soldier Boy! Soon he is one with the blinding smoke of it Volley and curse and groan: Then he has done with the knightly joke of it It's rending flesh and bone. There are pain-crazed animals a-shrieking there And a warm blood stench that is a-reeking there; He fights like a rat in a corner Billy, the soldier Boy! There he lies now, like a ghoulish score of him, Left on the field for dead: The ground all round is smeared with the gore of him Even the leaves are red. The Thing that was Billy lies a-dying there, Writhing and a-twisting and a-crying there; A sickening sun grins down on him Billy, the Soldier Boy! Still not quite clear in the poor, wrung heart of him What the fuss was about, See where he lies or a ghastly part of him While life is oozing out: There are loathsome things he sees a-crawling there; There are hoarse-voiced crows he hears a-calling there, Eager for the foul feast spread for them Billy, the Soldier Boy! How much longer, O lord, shall we bear it all? How many more red years? Story it and glory it and share it all, In seas of blood and tears? They are braggart attitudes we've worn so long; They are tinsel platitudes we've sworn so long We who have turned the Devil's Grindstone, Borne with the hell called War! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...D'ANNUNZIO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY 1915: THE TRENCHES by CONRAD AIKEN TO OUR PRESIDENT by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE HORSES by KATHARINE LEE BATES CHILDREN OF THE WAR by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE U-BOAT CREWS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE RED CROSS NURSE by KATHARINE LEE BATES WAR PROFITS by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE UNCHANGEABLE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE NIGHT COURT by RUTH COMFORT MITCHELL |
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