Sonnets from a prison camp

Chapter 9: 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

The bridge across the Lys! A slender thread

To bind or bar thy holders to their own;

But one span, small and narrow, lightly thrown

Over these sullen waters, lightly shed.

Upon thy planks the heavy-booted tread

Of men who seemed with sudden trouble grown

Haggard. “What are you?” “Durhams.” “What is known?”

“Our billet down, our officers are dead.

We seek a new position further on.”

Position! Little recked they then how steep

The way, how sure the ending. They were gone,

And the keen harvester prepared to reap

In fresh fields. The mourne blanket of the dawn

Gathered the Durhams to eternal sleep.

Rastatt, 28th April