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Sonnets from a prison camp

Chapter 125: VII
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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.

VII

Have you e’er thought, you people, have you thought
How great a thing it is in these great days
But to belong to England? The world stays
Upon the event. ’Twas English armies caught
The onfall of the Cyclone. While they fought,
The world forbore to breathe. Stern Fate delays
The issue; but that service and its praise
While England lives will never be forgot.
There was an honour that the ages kept
For English arms from immemorial time,
While yet the chivalry of nations slept
With mastodon and mammoth in the slime.
The æons rolled. Fate nodded. England woke.
The hour boomed forth. ’Twas England took the stroke.

Hesepe, 1st July