Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SOISSONS: 1918, by GERALD V. STAMM First Line: Now dreadful night unrolls, and dawn in gray Last Line: May come from poppies in the wheat. Subject(s): Death; Graves; Harvest; Soldiers; War; Wheat; Dead, The; Tombs; Tombstones | ||||||||
Now dreadful night unrolls, and dawn in gray Unfolds above the fields of golden wheat. The harvest, mothers, will be tears today The pensive moments drag by; hours replete With torment and harrowing suspense. No soul so numb but thoughts intrude Of home and its suffering intense. Sweethearts? To them none dare allude. The gates of hell unlatch; the heavens flash As flaming flickers crimson up the sky. When country calls it's mothers feel the lash The missiles shriek and scream as, hurtling by, They burst in gouts of smothering smoke. The air is laden with the boom Of ordnance gunners zealously stoke, And sheening planes that dive and zoom. The zero hour arrives; from pits there streams A swarm of olive drab into the grain. For them it's glory, and for mothers, dreams Nomadic tanks advance across the plain To clear the way for echeloned waves Beset by Maxims leaden sleet. For many there'll be lonesome graves Beneath the poppies in the wheat. The day recedes, and darkness sweeps the field While frogs proclaim the requiems nightbirds sing. The while The Scytheman sadly views his yield At dawn the lines arise and fiercely fling The foe from his bulwarks on the heights As Missy, Vierzy, Ploissy fall; But still the foe tenaciously fights For Berzy, buttress of them all. The scorching sun goes down, ascends and wanes As the battle rages from morn till night. And yet on Berzy the German remains Undaunted, upsurges at dim twilight Exhausted waves of ragged shadows To storm the works ere fades the day; But now they drive o'er hills and meadows The routed foe in bleak dismay. Now scowls the lord of war; disaster rears Its ugly head and stares him in the face. The hour as lowly fuelcutter nears But small his loss compared to tears that grace The cheeks of mothers for the ashes Of those who fell before the sleet And yet, surcease from misty lashes May come from poppies in the wheat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SURVIVOR AMONG GRAVES by RANDALL JARRELL SUBJECTED EARTH by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE GRAVE OF MRS. HEMANS by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER THOSE GRAVES IN ROME by LARRY LEVIS NOT TO BE DWELLED ON by HEATHER MCHUGH ONE LAST DRAW OF THE PIPE by PAUL MULDOON ETRUSCAN TOMB by JOHN FREDERICK NIMS ENDING WITH A LINE FROM LEAR by MARVIN BELL THE WAR THAT ISN'T WHAT YOU THINK by JAMES GALVIN |
|