I've blogged about this poem before -- I think it has perhaps one of the best opening lines ever written -- but I return to it again as Memorial Day approaches. One might think me anti-military or a pacifist for my fascination with it and other writing by those from the post-war generation of the 1920s, a group notably horrified by the experience of the Great War. (Just check out The Razor's Edge, if you want an excellent, longer read.) However, I have no problem with the military and it's application ... if one is prepared for the unpleasant consequences.
With that in mind, let us take a moment to think of those who willingly put themselves in harm's way, not infrequently enough left on the battlefield of foreign lands or their own minds, wondering why ...
Anthem for Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
— Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
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