Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE SONG OF THE SOLDIER-BORN, by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Give me the scorn of the stars and a peak defiant Last Line: Death in my boots may-be, but fighting, fighting. Subject(s): Soldiers; War; World War I; First World War | ||||||||
Give me the scorn of the stars and a peak defiant; Wail of the pines and a wind with the shout of a giant; Night and a trail unknown and a heart reliant. Give me to live and love in the old, bold fashion; A soldier's billet at night and a soldier's ration; A heart that leaps to the fight with a soldier's passion. For I hold as a simple faith there's no denying; The trade of a soldier's the only trade worth plying; The death of a soldier's the only death worth dying. So let me go and leave your safety behind me; Go to the spaces of hazard where nothing shall bind me; Go till the word is War -- and then you will find me. Then you will call me and claim me because you will need me; Cheer me and gird me and into the battle-wrath speed me. . . . And when it's over, spurn me and no longer heed me. For guile and a purse gold-greased are the arms you carry; With deeds of paper you fight and with pens you parry; You call on the hounds of the law your foes to harry. You with your "Art for its own sake," posing and prinking; You with your "Live and be merry," eating and drinking; You with your "Peace at all hazard," from bright blood shrinking. Fools! I will tell you now: though the red rain patters, And a million of men go down, it's little it matters. . . . There's the Flag upflung to the stars, though it streams in tatters. There's a glory gold never can buy to yearn and to cry for; There's hope that's as old as the sky to suffer and sigh for; There's a faith that out-dazzles the sun to martyr and die for. Ah no! it's my dream that War will never be ended; That men will perish like men, and valour be splendid; That the Flag by the sword will be served, and honour defended. That the tale of my fights will never be ancient story; That though my eye may be dim and my beard be hoary, I'll die as a soldier dies on the Field of Glory. So give me a strong right arm for a wrong's swift righting; Stave of a song on my lips as my sword is smiting; Death in my boots may-be, but fighting, fighting. | 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 CLANCY OF THE MOUNTED POLICE by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE |
|