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Sonnets from a prison camp

Chapter 43: IX
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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.

IX

The root of our infirmity is found
In English liberty, grandly achieved,
Yet little understood and ill conceived,
And sprouting rank from the uncultured ground.
Too much the thought prevails that man unbound
Is man made free, a life oft unretrieved
From chaos by a content; undeceived
Only when licence runs the ship aground.
O England! Mother! whom thine every child
Loves, surely, to the last, forgive that some
Must fear the loss of thy benignant strength
Through the mind’s error—lest, too freely wild,
Thy liberty of indifference become
A liberty of impotence at length.

Rastatt, 9th May