Katja Labonté’s Reviews > A Treasury of War Poetry British and American Poems of the World War 1914-1917 > Status Update

Our little hour,—how short a tune
To wage our wars, to fan our hates,
To take our fill of armoured crime,
To troop our banners, storm the gates.
Blood on the sword, our eyes blood-red,
Blind in our puny reign of power,
Do we forget how soon is sped
Our little hour?

The falling rain is music overhead,
The dark night, lit by no Intruding star,
Fit covering yields to thoughts that roam afar
And turn again familiar paths to tread,
Where many a laden hour too quickly sped
In happier times, before the dawn of war,
Before the spoiler had whet his sword to mar
The faithful living and the mighty dead.

All that a man might ask thou hast given me, England,   
Yet grant thou one thing more:
That now when envious foes would spoil thy splendour,   
Unversed in arms, a dreamer such, as I,
May in thy ranks be deemed not all unworthy,   
England, for thee to die.

This poems are so poignant…

So there was the whole picture,
The lovely early morning, the occasional shell
Screeching and scattering past us, the empty landscape,—
Empty, except for the young Gunner saluting,
And the cat, anxiously watching his every movement.

Led by Wilhelm, as you tell,
God has done extremely well;
You with patronizing nod
Show that you approve of God.
Kaiser, face a question new—
This—does God approve of you?
I can hear Susan from Rilla of Ingleside reading this poem 🤣