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Siegfried Sassoon Short Poems

Famous Short Siegfried Sassoon Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Siegfried Sassoon. A collection of the all-time best Siegfried Sassoon short poems


by Siegfried Sassoon
 For Morn, my dome of blue, 
For Meadows, green and gay, 
And Birds who love the twilight of the leaves, 
Let Jesus keep me joyful when I pray.
For the big Bees that hum And hide in bells of flowers; For the winding roads that come To Evening’s holy door, May Jesus bring me grateful to his arms, And guard my innocence for evermore.



by Siegfried Sassoon
 I found him in the guard-room at the Base.
From the blind darkness I had heard his crying And blundered in.
With puzzled, patient face A sergeant watched him; it was no good trying To stop it; for he howled and beat his chest.
And, all because his brother had gone west, Raved at the bleeding war; his rampant grief Moaned, shouted, sobbed, and choked, while he was kneeling Half-naked on the floor.
In my belief Such men have lost all patriotic feeling.

Autumn  Create an image from this poem
by Siegfried Sassoon
 October's bellowing anger breaks and cleaves 
The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood 
In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves 
For battle’s fruitless harvest, and the feud 
Of outraged men.
Their lives are like the leaves Scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown Along the westering furnace flaring red.
O martyred youth and manhood overthrown, The burden of your wrongs is on my head.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 There stood a Poplar, tall and straight; 
The fair, round Moon, uprisen late, 
Made the long shadow on the grass 
A ghostly bridge ’twixt heaven and me.
But May, with slumbrous nights, must pass; And blustering winds will strip the tree.
And I’ve no magic to express The moment of that loveliness; So from these words you’ll never guess The stars and lilies I could see.

Blind  Create an image from this poem
by Siegfried Sassoon
HIS headstrong thoughts that once in eager strife
Leapt sure from eye to brain and back to eye 
Weaving unconscious tapestries of life 
Are now thrust inward dungeoned from the sky.
And he who has watched his world and loved it all 5 Starless and old and blind a sight for pity With feeble steps and fingers on the wall Gropes with his staff along the rumbling city.



by Siegfried Sassoon
 In me, past, present, future meet
To hold long chiding conference.
My lusts usurp the present tense And strangle Reason in his seat.
My loves leap through the future’s fence To dance with dream-enfranchised feet.
In me the cave-man clasps the seer, And garlanded Apollo goes Chanting to Abraham’s deaf ear.
In me the tiger sniffs the rose.
Look in my heart, kind friends, and tremble, Since there your elements assemble.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 When you are standing at your hero’s grave,
Or near some homeless village where he died,
Remember, through your heart’s rekindling pride,
The German soldiers who were loyal and brave.
Men fought like brutes; and hideous things were done; And you have nourished hatred, harsh and blind.
But in that Golgotha perhaps you’ll find The mothers of the men who killed your son.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 I heard the farm cocks crowing, loud, and faint, and thin,
When hooded night was going and one clear planet winked:
I heard shrill notes begin down the spired wood distinct,
When cloudy shoals were chinked and gilt with fires of day.
White-misted was the weald; the lawns were silver-grey; The lark his lonely field for heaven had forsaken; And the wind upon its way whispered the boughs of may, And touched the nodding peony-flowers to bid them waken.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 I knew a simple soldier boy 
Who grinned at life in empty joy, 
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark, 
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum, With crumps and lice and lack of rum, He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you'll never know The hell where youth and laughter go.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 Where sunshine flecks the green, 
Through towering woods my way 
Goes winding all the day.
Scant are the flowers that bloom Beneath the bosky screen And cage of golden gloom.
Few are the birds that call, Shrill-voiced and seldom seen.
Where silence masters all, And light my footsteps fall, The whispering runnels only With blazing noon confer; And comes no breeze to stir The tangled thickets lonely.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on--on--and out of sight.
Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted; And beauty came like the setting sun: My heart was shaken with tears; and horror Drifted away .
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O, but Everyone Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 The House is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin 
And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks 
Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din; 
‘We’re sure the Kaiser loves our dear old Tanks!’ 

I’d like to see a Tank come down the stalls,
Lurching to rag-time tunes, or ‘Home, sweet Home’, 
And there’d be no more jokes in Music-halls 
To mock the riddled corpses round Bapaume.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 I heard a clash, and a cry, 
And a horseman fleeing the wood.
The moon hid in a cloud.
Deep in shadow I stood.
‘Ugly work!’ thought I, Holding my breath.
‘Men must be cruel and proud, ‘Jousting for death’.
With gusty glimmering shone The moon; and the wind blew colder.
A man went over the hill, Bent to his horse’s shoulder.
‘Time for me to be gone’.
.
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Darkly I fled.
Owls in the wood were shrill, And the moon sank red.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 To these I turn, in these I trust; 
Brother Lead and Sister Steel.
To his blind power I make appeal; I guard her beauty clean from rust.
He spins and burns and loves the air, And splits a skull to win my praise; But up the nobly marching days She glitters naked, cold and fair.
Sweet Sister, grant your soldier this; That in good fury he may feel The body where he sets his heel Quail from your downward darting kiss.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 Old English songs, you bring to me 
A simple sweetness somewhat kin 
To birds that through the mystery 
Of earliest morn make tuneful din, 
While hamlet steeples sleepily
At cock-crow chime out three and four, 
Till maids get up betime and go 
With faces like the red sun low 
Clattering about the dairy floor.

Dryads  Create an image from this poem
by Siegfried Sassoon
 When meadows are grey with the morn 
In the dusk of the woods it is night: 
The oak and the birch and the pine 
War with the glimmer of light.
Dryads brown as the leaf Move in the gloom of the glade; When meadows are grey with the morn Dim night in the wood has delayed.
The cocks that crow to the land Are faint and hollow and shrill: Dryads brown as the leaf Whisper, and hide, and are still.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 ‘Good-morning; good-morning!’ the General said 
When we met him last week on our way to the line.
Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of ’em dead, And we’re cursing his staff for incompetent swine.
‘He’s a cheery old card,’ grunted Harry to Jack As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack.
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But he did for them both by his plan of attack.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 Music of whispering trees 
Hushed by a broad-winged breeze 
Where shaken water gleams; 
And evening radiance falling 
With reedy bird-notes calling.
O bear me safe through dark, you low-voiced streams.
I have no need to pray That fear may pass away; I scorn the growl and rumble of the fight That summons me from cool Silence of marsh and pool And yellow lilies is landed in light O river of stars and shadows, lead me through the night.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 Some Brave, awake in you to-night, 
Knocked at your heart: an eagle’s flight 
Stirred in the feather on your head.
Your wide-set Indian eyes, alight Above high cheek-bones smeared with red, Unveiled cragg’d centuries, and led You, the snared wraith of bygone things— Wild ancestries of trackless Kings— Out of the past .
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So men have felt Strange anger move them as they knelt Praying to gods serenely starred In heavens where tomahawks are barred.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 In this meadow starred with spring 
Shepherds kneel before their king.
Mary throned, with dreaming eyes, Gowned in blue like rain-washed skies, Lifts her tiny son that he May behold their courtesy.
And green-smocked children, awed and good, Bring him blossoms from the wood.
Clear the sunlit steeples chime Mary’s coronation-time.
Loud the happy children quire To the golden-windowed morn; While the lord of their desire Sleeps below the crimson thorn.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath 
I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base, 
And speed glum heroes up the line to death.
You'd see me with my puffy petulant face, Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel, Reading the Roll of Honour.
"Poor young chap," I'd say -- "I used to know his father well; Yes, we've lost heavily in this last scrap.
" And when the war is done and youth stone dead, I'd toddle safely home and die -- in bed.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 I lived my days apart, 
Dreaming fair songs for God; 
By the glory in my heart 
Covered and crowned and shod.
Now God is in the strife, And I must seek Him there, Where death outnumbers life, And fury smites the air.
I walk the secret way With anger in my brain.
O music through my clay, When will you sound again?

France  Create an image from this poem
by Siegfried Sassoon
 She triumphs, in the vivid green 
Where sun and quivering foliage meet; 
And in each soldier’s heart serene; 
When death stood near them they have seen 
The radiant forests where her feet 
Move on a breeze of silver sheen.
And they are fortunate, who fight For gleaming landscapes swept and shafted And crowned by cloud pavilions white; Hearing such harmonies as might Only from Heaven be downward wafted— Voices of victory and delight.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 Leave not your bough, my slender song-bird sweet, 
But pipe me now your roundelay complete.
Come, gentle breeze, and tarrying on your way, Whisper my trees what you have seen to-day.
Stand, golden cloud, until my song be done, (For he’s too proud) before the face of the sun.
So one did sing, and the other breathed a story; Then both took wing, and the sun stepped forth in glory.

by Siegfried Sassoon
 Let my soul, a shining tree, 
Silver branches lift towards thee, 
Where on a hallowed winter’s night 
The clear-eyed angels may alight.
And if there should be tempests in My spirit, let them surge like din Of noble melodies at war; With fervour of such blades of triumph as are Flashed in white orisons of saints who go On shafts of glory to the ecstasies they know.