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Gloucestershire Friends: Poems From a German Prison Camp

Chapter 17: BALLADE No. 1
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About This Book

A collection of short poems written by a soldier in captivity reflecting on home, memory, and the experience of imprisonment. The verse moves between intimate domestic images—mother, English gardens, county landscapes—and the hardships of internment, loneliness, and comradeship, often blending pastoral detail with wartime grief and wry humor. Forms vary from ballades and sonnets to rondel and villanelle, and recurring motifs include nature, loss, longing, and reflections on duty and sacrifice. Many pieces juxtapose the small joys of remembered rural life with the starkness of prison, producing restrained lyricism that balances tenderness, anger, and quiet faith.

BALLADE
No. 1

Bodies of comrade soldiers gleaming white
Within the mill-pool where you float and dive
And lounge around part-clothed or naked quite;
Beautiful shining forms of men alive,
O living lutes stringed with the senses five
For Love’s sweet fingers; seeing Fate afar,
My very soul with Death for you must strive;
Because of you I loathe the name of War.
But O you piteous corpses yellow-black,
Rotting unburied in the sunbeam’s light,
With teeth laid bare by yellow lips curled back
Most hideously; whose tortured souls took flight
Leaving your limbs, all mangled by the fight,
In attitudes of horror fouler far
Than dreams which haunt a devil’s brain at night;
Because of you I loathe the name of War.
Mothers and maids who loved you, and the wives
Bereft of your sweet presences; yea, all
Who knew you beautiful; and those small lives
Made of that knowledge; O, and you who call
For life (but vainly now) from that dark hall
Where wait the Unborn, and the loves which are
In future generations to befall;
Because of you I loathe the name of War.
L’ENVOI
Prince Jesu, hanging stark upon a tree
Crucified as the malefactors are
That man and man henceforth should brothers be;
Because of you I loathe the name of War.