Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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The: Branksomk Si ogan 21 English Poetry in the Great War Tell England, ye who pass this monument, We died for her and here we rest content. Tell England — Ernest Raymond. The World War had a great influence on English poetry. Many poets who might otherwise have died unknown, scaled the heights of fame through the medium of their war poetry. This poetry may, with a few exceptions, be divided into two classes. To the first class belong those poems whose authors were on active service. To the second class belong those poems whose authors were at home. One of the most outstanding poems of the first class is The Soldier, by Rupert Brooke. He had just enlisted in the Royal Naval Reserve and his poem shows that he had a premonition of his approaching death. If I should die, think only this of me. That there ' s some comer of a foreign field That is forever England. While his other poems are not unworthy of merit, this poem shows his genius. And think, this heart, all evil shed away A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends ; and gentleness. In hearts at peace, under an English heaven. Of the second class is Mildred Huxley ' s poem, Subalterns. The speaker is represented as being an old English college who has seen her sons go to war with proud surrender and emphasizes the sacrifice that they have made. Yet here and there some graybeard breathed derision. Too much of luxury! too soft an age! Your careless Galahads will see no vision. Your knights will make no mark on honour ' s page. No mark? Go ask the broken fields of Flanders, Ask the great dead who watched in ancient Troy, Ask the old moon as ' round the earth she wanders. What of the boys who were my hope and joy?

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20 The; Branksome; Slogan I Met Spring in the Woods I saw a woman walking in the day- light ' s afiterglow — Hler feet were shod with maple leaves, her hair was like the snow ; The flowers nodded as she passed along that scented wajs As ithe evening, with his depth of love, reached a welcome to the day. This woman passed me often as the shadows gathered low. And I fancied on her face a haunt- ing smile of mellowed woe; Meditating, she would linger in the musky, darkened glen. Then, elusive grace and mystic sweep, ishe was wafted on again. She was Springtime, and the san- dals that she wore upon her feet. Were but tiny buds of maples : green and gold like rip ' ning wheat; And she smiled to see the grayness of the Winter ' s frosty smile, Turn to dewdrops in the chalice of a springtime ' s blossom wild. Spring ' s a friend now, and no longer do I pass her ' neath the trees, She has made her home with lilacs, near some busy, ' buzzing bees ; She converses in a voice that lulls a hummingbird to rest, And she tends her flower children sleeping gently on her breast. WILMA BATE, Form V.

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22 The Branksome) Slogan In the last verse she visualizes their final reward for their complete sacrifice. ' ' They who had all, gave all. Their half-writ story Lies in the empty halls they knew so well. But they, the knights of God, shall see His glory, And find the Grail ev ' n in the fields of hell. Another poem like Subalterns is The Spires of Oxford, by Winifred Letts. The author is passing through Oxford when she sees the grey spires of Oxford against the pearl-grey sky. Seeing the spires, she is reminded of the men who left their happy University life and went abroad to die. Rudyard Kipling wrote two poems during the war which, although not as beautiful as some, are very good. These two poems are : For All We Have and Are and Who Dies if England Live. In these poems he exhorts the young men of England to fight to the utmost for the Motherland. A famous war poem, In Flanders Fields, was written by a Canadian, John McCrae. The author, who was on active service, died a few months later. The poem needs no introduction or explanation. In Flanders fields, the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row That mark our place ; and in the sky The larks still bravely singing, fly, Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow. Loved and were loved, and now we Ue In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe, To you from failing hands we throw The torch: be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. The beauty of the poetry written during the war lies in its interpretation of the noble self-sacrifice, unfailing endurance, unflinching courage and flaming patriotism of the young men of England who went to the front. This poetry shows the attitude of scorn which existed to this age and how gloriously it was refuted. These gave their lives away, Poured out the red, sweet wine of youth. — Rupert Brooke. MARY BECKER, Form V (Clan Ross).