I'M HOME. Yes. And safe. I should give Thanks, deepest thanks, that I live— That I am not There with the rest Of my bunkies—the ones who "went west"— I'm home safe, and happy. And yet Somehow, I just can't forget— Somehow there's always a call That's ringing—and asking—that's all! Back, where the smoky dawn Told how the fight had gone; Back, where the rising sun Might be the last that we'd see, (Always the last for some pals) There's something that's calling to me! I know where a stretch of wire, Ripped here and there by our rush, Lies is it lay on the morn When the sun broke red with a blush— A blush for the brutes who held The farther side of the wire, And a blush for the things that came After we burst through their fire! And I want to go back to that place— I want to sit there in the sun— I want to lay a hand on each cross That stands where we smashed in and won— I want to say, "Pals, I am here— Yes, fellows—I know you were MEN— I wish you could stand here with me, Or I could be with you again!" Yes, it was muddy there— Yes, it was bloody there— Yes, it was living hard— Yes, all the comforts were barred— But say—it was worth it to learn How the spirit can flame up and burn— How the great souls of men can reveal Themselves in a sheathing of steel— How the love of a pal can count more Than the love of the whole world before— When the whirls of the fight come and go— And I—I was there, and I KNOW! I stood there—with MEN—for a space— And I want to go back to that place! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HATCHING; FOR DAW AUNG SAN SUU KYI by KAREN SWENSON ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE by THOMAS GRAY AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM by ALEXANDER POPE SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 39. NOT CHRIST, BUT CHRIST'S GOD by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE IMPROVISATORE: THE INDUCTION TO THE SECOND FYTTE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |