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Sonnets from a prison camp

Chapter 80: XX
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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.

XX

It were not well with man did he not feel
At home with his own nature, all we are
Conspiring with our angel and our star
To keep our being whole, or, broken, heal,
Lest in some faulted mould the soul congeal.
And oft-times ’tis the Highest that doth mar
The Perfect in us, straining us too far,
And overreaching Justice. Hence the peal
Of that great cachinnation echoing woke
Appreciation of the lofty use
Of comedy, to shake the settling soul
Out of itself. The Elemental spoke,
And something broadened in me. The recluse
Unstiffened, and I felt my nature whole.

Hesepe, 11th June