# The Muse in Arms/Before Action

Before Action
VIII
Into Battle
THE naked earth is warm with spring, And with green grass and bursting trees Leans to the sun's gaze glorying, And quivers in the sunny breeze; And life is colour and warmth and light, And a striving evermore for these; And he is dead who will not fight; And who dies fighting has increase.
The fighting man shall from the sun Take warmth, and life from the glowing earth; Speed with the light-foot winds to run, And with the trees to newer birth; And find, when fighting shall be done, Great rest, and fullness after dearth.
All the bright company of Heaven Hold him in their high comradeship, The Dog-Star, and the Sisters Seven, Orion's Belt and sworded hip.
​The woodland trees that stand together, They stand to him each one a friend; They gently speak in the windy weather; They guide to valley and ridge's end.
The kestrel hovering by day, And the little owls that call by night, Bid him be swift and keen as they, As keen of ear, as swift of sight.
The blackbird sings to him, "Brother, brother, If this be the last song you shall sing, Sing well, for you may not sing another; Brother, sing."
In dreary, doubtful, waiting hours, Before the brazen frenzy starts, The horses show him nobler powers; O patient eyes, courageous hearts!
And when the burning moment breaks, And all things else are out of mind, And only joy of battle takes Him by the throat, and makes him blind,
Through joy and blindness he shall know Not caring much to know, that still Nor lead nor steel shall reach him, so That it be not the Destined Will.
​The thundering line of battle stands, And in the air death moans and sings; But Day shall clasp him with strong hands, And Night shall fold him in soft wings.
Julian Grenfell.
IX
Before Action
BY all the glories of the day And the cool evening's benison, By that last sunset touch that lay Upon the hills when day was done, By beauty lavishly outpoured And blessings carelessly received, By all the days that I have lived Make me a soldier, Lord.
By all of all man's hopes and fears, And all the wonders poets sing, The laughter of unclouded years, And every sad and lovely thing; By the romantic ages stored With high endeavour that was his, By all his mad catastrophes Make me a man, O Lord.
I, that on my familiar hill Saw with uncomprehending eyes A hundred of Thy sunsets spill Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice, ​Ere the sun swings his noonday sword Must say good-bye to all of this;— By all delights that I shall miss, Help me to die, O Lord.
W. N. Hodgson.
June 29th, 1916.
X
Love of Life
REACH out thy hands, thy spirit's hands, to me And pluck the youth, the magic from my heart— Magic of dreams whose sensibility Is plumèd like the light; visions that start Mad pressure in the blood; desire that thrills The soul with mad delight: to yearning wed All slothfulness of life; draw from its bed The soul of dawn across the twilight hills. Reach out thy hands, O spirit, till I feel That I am fully thine; for I shall live In the proud consciousness that thou dost give, And if thy twilight fingers round me steal And draw me unto death—thy votary Am I, O Life; reach out thy hands to me!
John W. Streets.
XI
Big Words
"I'VE whined of coming death, but now, no more! It's weak and most ungracious. For, say I, Though still a boy if years are counted, why! I've lived those years from roof to cellar-floor, And feel, like grey-beards touching their fourscore, Ready, so soon as the need comes, to die: And I'm satisfied. For winning confidence in those quiet days Of peace, poised sickly on the precipice side Of Lliwedd crag by Snowdon, and in war Finding it firmlier with me than before; Winning a faith in the wisdom of God's ways That once I lost, finding it justified Even in this chaos; winning love that stays And warms the heart like wine at Easter-tide; Having earlier tried False loves in plenty; oh! my cup of praise Brims over, and I know I'll feel small sorrow, Confess no sins and make no weak delays If death ends all and I must die to-morrow." But on the firestep, waiting to attack, He cursed, prayed, sweated, wished the proud words back.
Robert Graves.
XII
The Approach
1. In the Grass: Halt by the Wayside
IN my tired, helpless body I feel my sunk heart ache; But suddenly, loudly The far, the great guns shake.
Is it sudden terror Burdens my heart? My hand Flies to my head. I listen. . . And do not understand.
Is death so near, then? From this blazing light, Do I plunge suddenly Into vortex? Night?
Guns again! the quiet Shakes at the vengeful voice. . . It is terrible pleasure. I do not fear; I rejoice.
2. On the Way Up
The battery grides and jingles, Mile succeeds to mile; Shaking the noonday sunshine, The guns lunge out a while And then are still a while.
We amble along the highway; The reeking, powdery dust Ascends and cakes our faces, With a striped, sweaty crust.
Under the still sky's violet The heat throbs in the air. . . . The white road's dusty radiance, Assumes a dark glare.
With a head hot and heavy, And eyes that cannot rest, And a black heart burning In a stifled breast,
I sit in the saddle, I feel the road unroll, And keep my senses straightened Toward to-morrow's goal.
There over unknown meadows, Which we must reach at last, Day and night thunders A black and chilly blast.
​Heads forget heaviness, Hearts forget spleen, For by that mighty winnowing Being is blown clean.
Light in the eyes again, Strength in the hand, A spirit dares, dies, forgives And can understand.
And best! Love comes back again After grief and shame, And along the wind of death Throws a clean flame!
The battery grides and jingles; Mile succeeds to mile; Suddenly battering the silence The guns burst out a while.
I lift my head and smile.
3. Nearer
Nearer and ever nearer. . . . My body tired but tense Hovers 'twixt vague pleasure And tremulous confidence.
​Arms to have and to use them, And a soul to be made Worthy if not worthy; If afraid, unafraid!
To endure for a little, To endure and have done: Men I love about me, Over me the sun!
And should at last suddenly Fly the speeding death: The four great quarters of heaven Receive this little breath.
Robert Nichols.
XIII
To the Poet before Battle
NOW, youth, the hour of thy dread passion comes; Thy lovely things must all be laid away; And thou, as others, must face the riven day Unstirred by rattle of the rolling drums Or bugles' strident cry. When mere noise numbs The sense of being, the sick soul doth sway, Remember thy great craft's honour, that they may say Nothing in shame of poets. Then the crumbs Of praise the little versemen joyed to take Shall be forgotten; then they must know we are, For all our skill in words, equal in might And strong of mettle as those we honoured. Make The name of poet terrible in just war, And like a crown of honour upon the fight.
Ivor Gurney.
XIV
Absolution
THE anguish of the earth absolves our eyes Till beauty shines in all that we can see. War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise, And, fighting for our freedom, we are free.
Horror of wounds and anger at the foe, And loss of things desired; all those must pass. We are the happy legion, for we know Time's but a golden wind that shakes the grass.
There was an hour when we were loth to part From life we longed to share no less than others. Now, having claimed his heritage of heart, What need we more, my comrades and my brothers?
Siegfried Sassoon.
XV
Better Far to Pass Away
BETTER far to pass away While the limbs are strong and young, Ere the ending of the day, Ere youth's lusty song be sung. Hot blood pulsing through the veins, Youth's high hope a burning fire, Young men needs must break the chains That hold them from their hearts' desire.
My friends the hills, the sea, the sun, The winds, the woods, the clouds, the trees— How feebly, if my youth were done, Could I, an old man, relish these! With laughter, then, I'll go to greet What Fate has still in store for me, And welcome Death if we should meet, And bear him willing company.
My share of fourscore years and ten I'll gladly yield to any man, And take no thought of "where" or "when," Contented with my shorter span. ​For I have learned what love may be, And found a heart that understands, And known a comrade's constancy, And felt the grip of friendly hands.
Come when it may, the stern decree For me to leave the cheery throng And quit the sturdy company Of brothers that I work among. No need for me to look askance, Since no regret my prospect mars. My day was happy—and perchance The coming night is full of stars.
Richard Molesworth Dennys.