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Siegfried Sassoon - A Letter Home
Work rating: Medium

(To Robert Graves) 
     I 
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 sent 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. 

     II 

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, 
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. 

     III 

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 been 
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 a fairy story. 
Winter called him far away; 
Blossoms bring him home with May. 

     IV 

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. 

     V 

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!
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