To “My People,” Before the “Great Offensive”

By: Eric Fitzwater Wilkinson (1916) Dark with uncertainty of doubtful doom The future looms across the path we tread; Yet, undismayed we gaze athwart the gloom, Prophetically tinged with hectic red. The mutterings of conflict, sullen, deep, Surge over homes where hopeless tears are shed, And ravens their ill-omened vigils keep O’er legions dead.

No-Man’s-Land

By: H. D’A. B (1917) There’s a zone Wild and lone None claim, none own, That goes by the name of No-Man’s-Land; Its frontiers are bastioned, and wired, and mined, The rank grass shudders and shakes in the wind, And never a roof nor a tree you find In No-Man’s-Land.

My Son

By: Ada Tyrrell (1917) Here is his little cambric frock That I laid by in lavender so sweet, And here his tiny shoe and sock I made with loving care for his dear feet. I fold the frock across my breast, And in imagination, ah, my sweet, Once more I hush my babe to rest,…

The Debt Unpayable

By: Francis William Bourdillon (1917) What have I given, Bold sailor on the sea, In earth or heaven, That you should die for me? What can I give, O soldier, leal and brave, Long as I live, To pay the life you gave?