Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATIONS FOR VICTORY, by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Rhyming Dictionary Search
PREPARATIONS FOR VICTORY, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: My soul, dread not the pestilence that hags
Last Line: The black fiend leaps brick-red as life's last picture goes.
Alternate Author Name(s): Blunden, Edmund
Subject(s): World War I; First World War


MY soul, dread not the pestilence that hags
The valley; flinch not you, my body young,
At these great shouting smokes and snarling jags
Of fiery iron; as yet may not be flung
The dice that claims you. Manly move among
These ruins, and what you must do, do well;
Look, here are gardens, there mossed boughs are hung
With apples whose bright cheeks none might excel,
And there's a house as yet unshattered by a shell.

"I'll do my best," the soul makes sad reply,
"And I will mark the yet unmurdered tree,
The relics of dear homes that court the eye,
And yet I see them not as I would see.
Hovering between, a ghostly enemy
Sickens the light, and poisoned, withered, wan,
The least defiled turns desperate to me."
The body, poor unpitied Caliban,
Parches and sweats and grunts to win the name of Man.

Days or eternities like swelling waves
Surge on, and still we drudge in this dark maze,
The bombs and coils and cans by strings of slaves
Are borne to serve the coming day of days;
Pale sleep in slimy cellars scarce allays
With its brief blank the burden. Look, we lose;
The sky is gone, the lightless drenching haze
Of rainstorm chills the bone; earth, air are foes,
The black fiend leaps brick-red as life's last picture goes.





Other Poems of Interest...



Home: PoetryExplorer.net