First World War Poems

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For the Fallen 

by Laurence Binyon

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

England mourns for her dead across the sea.

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,

Fallen in the cause of the free.


Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal 

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,

There is music in the midst of desolation

And a glory that shines upon our tears.


They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;

They fell with their faces to the foe.


They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.


They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; 

They sit no more at familiar tables of home;

They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;

They sleep beyond England's foam.


But where our desires are and our hopes profound, 

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known

As the stars are known to the Night;


As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, 

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, 

To the end, to the end, they remain.


Words to know - mourn, drum, sorrow, shine, foe steady, weary, mingle, hide, dust.


When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead

by Charles Hamilton Sorley

When you see millions of the mouthless dead

Across your dreams in pale battalions go,

Say not soft things as other men have said,

That you'll remember. For you need not so.

Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know

It is not curses heaped on each gashed head?

Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow.

Nor honour. It is easy to be dead.

Say only this, “They are dead.” Then add thereto,

“Yet many a better one has died before.”

Then, scanning all the o'ercrowded mass, should you

Perceive one face that you loved heretofore,

It is a spook. None wears the face you knew.

Great death has made all his for evermore.


Words to know - pale, praise, deaf, curse, overcrowded.

The Soldier

by Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me:

      That there’s some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

      In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

      Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam;

A body of England’s, breathing English air,

      Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.


And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

      A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

            Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

      And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

            In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.


Words to know - conceal, aware, breathe, laughter.


Dulce et Decorum Est

by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.


Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.


In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.


If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.


Words to know - bend, beggar, drop clumsy, helmet, yell, stumble, choke, drown, sin, lungs.


In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae


In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

    That mark our place; and in the sky

    The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.


We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

    Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

        In Flanders fields.


Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

    The torch; be yours to hold it high.

    If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

        In Flanders fields.


Words to know - poppy, blow, row, brave, dawn, sunset, quarrel.







 

Comments

Sir Joseph said…
Hi Graham,

These poems are difficult to understand, at least for me. I have passed a lot of time looking up the vocabulary of every poem and when I have read the meaning in the dictionary I didn´t know if it was true or I had to link it with the next word. What is more, its words are new for me. I don´t know if it´s a common way to speak but when I talk with you, we don´t speak like that.

I like “The Soldier” by Rupert Brooke and “In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae, perhaps because they are less difficult for me and I think understand it. The Soldier shows a big English patriot. In Flanders Fields is a poem of war in the First World War. It´s sad like every poem about the war. It stands out that, among expressions as “We are the Dead”, appear words like poppies, larks, loved and so on.

I want to pay tribute to these English soldiers, from my modest position, who defended the freedom for their country and for the world. I take advantage to pay tribute to Spanish people who established the democracy in Spain in the “Transition” and whom are now fighting against a gang of uncouth cattle who wants to abolish it.

See you.
Sunday, 03 December, 2023
Graham said…
Morning José,

I didn't expect you to read all four poems and look up every single word - it must have been exhausting. Poetic language can be difficult to comprehend though there are some words in this post which are worth knowing. What I'll do is add the most important words at the end of each poem. To save time, the next time you are confronted with a sea of green words, use Deepl to translate the text.

You were doing so well up until your final point about the current political situation in Spain. I don't have the energy to reply to it today.


These poems are difficult to understand, at least for me. I have passed a lot of time looking up the vocabulary of each poem and when I read the meaning in the dictionary, I didn't know if it fitted the context or I had to link it with the next word. What is more, its words are new for me. I don´t know if it´s a common way to speak but when I talk with you, we don´t speak like that.

I like “The Soldier” by Rupert Brooke and “In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae, perhaps because they are less difficult for me and I think I understand it. The Soldier is very patriotic. In Flanders Fields is a poem from the First World War. It´s sad like every poem about the war. Among expressions such as “We are the Dead”, appear words which also stand out like poppies, larks, loved and so on.

I want to pay tribute to these English soldiers, from my modest position, who defended the freedom for their country and for the world. I take advantage to pay tribute to Spanish people who established democracy in Spain in the “Transition” and whom are now fighting against a gang of uncouth cattle who wants to abolish it.
Tuesday, 05 December, 2023
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