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Sonnets from a prison camp

Chapter 122: IV
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About This Book

A sequence of sonnets composed by a soldier in enemy captivity during the First World War, recording frontline violence, the suddenness of bombardment, marches and captures, the strain of waiting and the loss of comrades, and the solace found in memory and poetic labour. Many poems juxtapose immediate scenes—exploding shrapnel, crowded billets, marches, and internment camps—with reveries of homeland landscapes and classical or moral reflections. Sections move between field incidents, the nadir of imprisonment, thoughts of home and influences, and short epigrams or maxims, showing how verse acted as a mental bulwark against despair while exploring themes of fate, endurance, and the persistence of inner freedom.

IV

England, I trust thee. What thy soul hath planned
Will be performed; and towards that last long end
Thou hast not wavered since thou first did’st send
Ship hot on ship, by freemen freely manned,
Over the sea to France’s sacred strand.
Faithful thou art, and knowest well to blend
Patience with resolution, and to lend
To thy heart’s aim thy gauntleted right hand.
This in the main. And yet the enterprise
Articulated, mocks the purposed whole
With fitful effort; and the dread doth loom,
As each fresh crisis darkens all the skies,
That the Disruptive in thy restless soul,
Become habitual, is become thy doom.

Hesepe, 28th June