Poeten och soldaten Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967) fotograferad 1915.
"A Letter Home", från "The Old Huntsman and Other Poems" (1918):
1
Here I’m sitting in the gloom
Of my quiet attic room.
France goes rolling all around,
Fledged with forest May has crowned.
And I puff my pipe, calm-hearted,
Thinking how the fighting started,
Wondering when we’ll ever end it,
Back to Hell with Kaiser send it,
Gag the noise, pack up and go,
Clockwork soldiers in a row.
I’ve got better things to do
Than to waste my time on you.
2
Robert, when I drowse to-night,
Skirting lawns of sleep to chase
Shifting dreams in mazy light,
Somewhere then I’ll see your face
Turning back to bid me follow
Where I wag my arms and hollo,
Over hedges hasting after
Crooked smile and baffling laughter.
Running tireless, floating, leaping,
Down your web-hung woods and valleys,
Garden glooms and hornbeam alleys,
Where the glowworm stars are peeping,
Till I find you, quiet as stone
On a hill-top all alone,
Staring outward, gravely pondering
Jumbled leagues of hillock-wandering.
3
You and I have walked together
In the starving winter weather.
We’ve been glad because we knew
Time’s too short and friends are few.
We’ve been sad because we missed
One whose yellow head was kissed
By the gods, who thought about him
Till they couldn’t do without him.
Now he’s here again; I’ve seen
Soldier David dressed in green,
Standing in a wood that swings
To the madrigal he sings.
He’s come back, all mirth and glory,
Like the prince in fairy story.
Winter called him far away;
Blossoms bring him home with May.
4
Well, I know you’ll swear it’s true
That you found him decked in blue
Striding up through morning-land
With a cloud on either hand.
Out in Wales, you’ll say, he marches,
Arm in arm with oaks and larches;
Hides all night in hilly nooks,
Laughs at dawn in tumbling brooks.
Yet, it’s certain, here he teaches
Outpost-schemes to groups of beeches.
And I’m sure, as here I stand,
That he shines through every land,
That he sings in every place
Where we’re thinking of his face.
5
Robert, there’s a war in France;
Everywhere men bang and blunder,
Sweat and swear and worship Chance,
Creep and blink through cannon thunder.
Rifles crack and bullets flick,
Sing and hum like hornet-swarms.
Bones are smashed and buried quick.
Yet, through stunning battle storms,
All the while I watch the spark
Lit to guide me; for I know
Dreams will triumph, though the dark
Scowls above me where I go.
You can hear me; you can mingle
Radiant folly with my jingle.
War’s a joke for me and you
While we know such dreams are true!
S.S. Flixécourt. May 1916.
Världens bästa band någonsin!
I heard it from the valleys
I heard it ringing in the mountains
Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah
I heard it from the valleys
I heard him singing in the mountains
Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah
Robert, when I drowse to-night
Skirting lawns of sleep to chase
Shifting dreams in mazy light
Somewhere then I'll see your face
Turning back to bid me follow
Where I wag my arms and hollo
Over hedges hasting after
Crooked smile and baffling laughter
We know such dreams are true
He's come back, all mirth and glory
- Running tireless, floating, leaping
- Down your web-hung woods and valleys
- Where the glowworm stars are peeping
Like the prince in a fairy story
- Till I find you, quiet as stone
- On a hill-top all alone
- Staring outward, gravely pondering
- Jumbled leagues of hillock-wandering
Winter called him far away
- You and I have walked together
- In the starving winter weather
- We've been glad because we knew
- Time's too short and friends are few
Blossoms bring him home with May
- We've been sad because we missed
- One whose yellow head was kissed
- By the gods, who thought about him
- Till they couldn't do without him
Now he's here again
Standing in a wood that swings
To the madrigal he sings
And I'm sure, as here I stand,
That he shines through every land
That he sings in every place
Where we're thinking of his face
While we know such dreams are true
