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Meditations on War

 

If these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it . . .

Read these renowned poets’ thoughts on war, with lines ranging from Stephen Crane’s “war is kind” to William Shakespeare’s “I am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle.” Enjoy these poems during National Poetry Month (April), or any other time of year!

compiled by Erin Martin

  • National Poetry Month
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War Is Kind, Stephen Crane (1871-1900) Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep. War is kind. more . . .

Dulce Et Decorum Est, Wilfred Owen (1893-1918) 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. more . . .

For the Union Dead, Robert Lowell (1917-1977) On a thousand small town New England greens, the old white churches hold their air of sparse, sincere rebellion; frayed flags quilt the graveyards of the Grand Army of the Republic. The stone statues of the abstract Union Soldier grow slimmer and younger each year wasp-waisted, they doze over muskets and muse through their sideburns . . . more . . .

Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight, Vachel Lindsay (1879-1931) The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart. He sees the dreadnaughts scouring every main. He carries on his shawl-wrapped shoulders now The bitterness, the folly, and the pain. He cannot rest until a spirit-dawn Shall come;-the shining hope of Europe free: The league of sober folk, the Workers’ Earth Bringing long peace to Cornland, Alp, and Sea. It breaks his heart that kings must murder still, That all his hours of travail here for men Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white peace That he may sleep upon his hill again? more . . .

At the Public Market Museum: Charleston, South Carolina, Jane Kenyon (1947-1995) Who would choose this for himself? And yet the terrible machinery waited in place. With psalters in their breast pockets, and gloves knitted by their sisters and sweethearts, the men in gray hurled themselves out of the trenches, and rushed against blue. It was what both sides agreed to do. more . . .

Dry Loaf, Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) It was soldiers went marching over the rocks And still the birds came, came in watery flocks, Because it was spring and the birds had to come. No doubt that soldiers had to be marching And that drums had to be rolling, rolling, rolling. more (scroll down). . .

King Henry V, act IV, scene I, William Shakespeare (1564-1616) I am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it, whom to disobey were against all proportion of subjection. more . . .

On Being Asked for a War Poem, William Butler Yeats (1865-1939 I think it better that in times like these A poet keep his mouth shut, for in truth We have no gift to set a statesman right; He has had enough of meddling who can please A young girl in the indolence of her youth, Or an old man upon a winter’s night.

 

 

 

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War Is Kind, Stephen Crane (1871-1900)

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep. War is kind.

more . . .

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.

For the Union Dead, Robert Lowell (1917-1977)

On a thousand small town New England greens, the old white churches hold their air of sparse, sincere rebellion; frayed flags quilt the graveyards of the Grand Army of the Republic. The stone statues of the abstract Union Soldier grow slimmer and younger each year wasp-waisted, they doze over muskets and muse through their sideburns . . .

The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart. He sees the dreadnaughts scouring every main. He carries on his shawl-wrapped shoulders now The bitterness, the folly, and the pain. He cannot rest until a spirit-dawn Shall come;-the shining hope of Europe free: The league of sober folk, the Workers’ Earth Bringing long peace to Cornland, Alp, and Sea. It breaks his heart that kings must murder still, That all his hours of travail here for men Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white peace That he may sleep upon his hill again?

At the Public Market Museum: Charleston, South Carolina, Jane Kenyon (1947-1995)

Who would choose this for himself? And yet the terrible machinery waited in place. With psalters in their breast pockets, and gloves knitted by their sisters and sweethearts, the men in gray hurled themselves out of the trenches, and rushed against blue. It was what both sides agreed to do.

Dry Loaf, Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) It was soldiers went marching over the rocks And still the birds came, came in watery flocks, Because it was spring and the birds had to come. No doubt that soldiers had to be marching And that drums had to be rolling, rolling, rolling. more (scroll down). . .

King Henry V, act IV, scene I, William Shakespeare (1564-1616) I am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it, whom to disobey were against all proportion of subjection. more . . .

On Being Asked for a War Poem, William Butler Yeats (1865-1939 I think it better that in times like these A poet keep his mouth shut, for in truth We have no gift to set a statesman right; He has had enough of meddling who can please A young girl in the indolence of her youth, Or an old man upon a winter’s night.

 

 

 

Spelling Checker Place Finder Distance Calculator Periodic Table Conversion Tool Perpetual Calendar Year by Year Homework Help Fact Monster

 

Dry Loaf, Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) It was soldiers went marching over the rocks And still the birds came, came in watery flocks, Because it was spring and the birds had to come. No doubt that soldiers had to be marching And that drums had to be rolling, rolling, rolling. more (scroll down). . .

King Henry V, act IV, scene I, William Shakespeare (1564-1616) I am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it, whom to disobey were against all proportion of subjection. more . . .

On Being Asked for a War Poem, William Butler Yeats (1865-1939 I think it better that in times like these A poet keep his mouth shut, for in truth We have no gift to set a statesman right; He has had enough of meddling who can please A young girl in the indolence of her youth, Or an old man upon a winter’s night.

 

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  • Fact Monster

It was soldiers went marching over the rocks And still the birds came, came in watery flocks, Because it was spring and the birds had to come. No doubt that soldiers had to be marching And that drums had to be rolling, rolling, rolling.

more (scroll down). . .

King Henry V, act IV, scene I, William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

I am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it, whom to disobey were against all proportion of subjection.

On Being Asked for a War Poem, William Butler Yeats (1865-1939

I think it better that in times like these A poet keep his mouth shut, for in truth We have no gift to set a statesman right; He has had enough of meddling who can please A young girl in the indolence of her youth, Or an old man upon a winter’s night.

.com/spot/warpoetry.html

Sources +

Our Common Sources

Our Common Sources

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