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lirik lagu preparations for victory by edmund blunden - the war poetry society

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my soul, dread not the pestilence that hags
the valley; flinch not you, my body young
at these great shouting smokes and snarling jags
of fiery iron; as yet may not be flung
the dice that claims you. manly move among
these ruins, and what you must do, do well;
look, here are gardens, there mossed boughs are hung
with apples who bright cheeks none might excel
and there’s a house as yet unshattered by a sh~ll

“i’ll do my best,” the soul makes sad rеply
“and i will mark the yet unmurderеd tree
the tokens of dear homes that court the eye
and yet i see them not as i would see
hovering between, a ghostly enemy
sickens the light, and poisoned, withered, wan
the least defiled turns desperate to me.”
the body, poor unpitied caliban
parches and sweats and grunts to win the name of man

days or eternities like swelling waves
surge on, and still we drudge in this dark maze;
the bombs and coils and cans by strings of slaves
are borne to serve the coming day of days;
pale sleep in slimy cellars scarce allays
with its brief blank the burden. look, we lose;
the sky is gone, the lightless, drenching haze
of rainstorms chills the bone; earth, air are foes
the black fiend leaps brick~red as life’s last picture goes


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