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Siegfried Sassoon

Glory of Women

You love us when we're heroes, home on leave,
Or wounded in a mentionable place.
You worship decorations; you believe
That chivalry redeems the war's disgrace.
You make us shells. You listen with delight,
By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled.
You crown our distant ardours while we fight,
And mourn our laurelled memories when we're killed.
You can't believe that British troops “retire”
When hell's last horror breaks them, and they run,
Trampling the terrible corpses—blind with blood.
    O German mother dreaming by the fire,
    While you are knitting socks to send your son
    His face is trodden deeper in the mud.

About the poet
Siegfried Sassoon
 
By the same poet
Does It Matter?
Counter-Attack
Ancient History
Dreamers
Absolution
‘Blighters’
Everyone Sang
Base Details
The General
The Last Meeting
The Poet as Hero
Survivors
Suicide in the Trenches
To Any Dead Officer
The Hero
Aftermath
Attack
Sick Leave
The Dug-Out
 
Related books
Siegfried Sassoon at amazon.co.uk

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