Out there, we walked quite friendly up to Death, -- Sat down and ate beside him, cool and bland, -- Pardoned his spilling mess-tins in our hand. We've sniffed the green thick odour of his breath, -- Our eyes wept, but our courage didn't writhe. He's spat at us with bullets, and he's coughed Shrapnel. We chorused if he sang aloft, We whistled while he shaved us with his scythe. Oh, Death was never an enemy of ours! We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum. No soldier's paid to kick against His powers. We laughed, -- knowing that better men would come, And greater wars: when every fighter brags He fights for Death, for lives; not men, for flags. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OF DISTRESS BEING HUMILIATED BY THE CLASSICAL CHINESE POETS by HAYDEN CARRUTH A HYMN; AFTER READING 'LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT' by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR DICKENS IN CAMP by FRANCIS BRET HARTE ON A MOURNER by ALFRED TENNYSON THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR by ALFRED TENNYSON TO BESSIE HAWES, MAY QUEEN by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD |