Siegfried Sassoon (1886–1967). The Old Huntsman and Other Poems. 1918.
Index of First Lines
- Across the land a faint blue veil of mist
- All night the flares go up; the Dragon sings
- Along the wind-swept platform, pinched and white
- Anguish of the earth absolves our eyes, The
- Because the night was falling warm and still
- Behold these jewelled, merchant Ancestors
- Bishop tells us: When the boys come back, The
- Come in this hour to set my spirit free
- Cry out on Time that he may take away
- Darkness: the rain sluiced down; the mire was deep
- Down in the hollow there’s the whole Brigade
- Evening was in the wood, louring with storm
- Fall in, that awkward squad, and strike no more
- For Morn, my dome of blue
- Give me your hand, my brother, search my face
- Glorying forest shakes and swings with glancing, The
- He drowsed and was aware of silence heaped
- He primmed his loose red mouth and leaned his head
- Here I’m sitting in the gloom
- He staggered in from night and frost and fog
- He stood alone in some queer sunless place
- He turned to me with his kind, sleepy gaze
- He woke; the clank and racket of the train
- His headstrong thoughts that once in eager strife
- His wet white face and miserable eyes
- House is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin, The
- I cannot think that Death will press his claim
- I’d been on duty from two till four
- I’d heard fool-heroes brag of where they’d been
- I heard the farm cocks crowing, loud, and faint, and thin
- I keep such music in my brain
- I listen for him through the rain
- I lived my days apart
- In barns we crouch, and under stacks of straw
- In gold and grey, with fleering looks of sin
- In this meadow starred with spring
- I’ve listened: and all the sounds I heard
- I’ve never ceased to curse the day I signed
- Jack fell as he’d have wished, the Mother said
- Leave not your bough, my slender song-bird sweet
- Let my soul, a shining tree
- Music of whispering trees
- Old English songs, you bring to me
- Propped on a stick he viewed the August weald
- Return to greet me, colours that were my joy
- Road is thronged with women; soldiers pass, The
- Shepherds go whistling on their way
- She triumphs, in the vivid green
- So Davies wrote: ‘This leaves me in the pink’
- Then a wind blew
- There stood a Poplar, tall and straight
- They threw me from the gates: my matted hair
- This is To-day, a child in white and blue
- Three hours ago he blundered up the trench
- Through darkness curves a spume of falling flares
- To these I turn, in these I trust
- Trudging by Corbie Ridge one winter’s night
- When half the drowsy world’s a-bed
- When I’m among a blaze of lights
- When in your sober mood my body have ye laid
- When meadows are grey with the morn
- When old Noah stared across the floods
- When roaring gloom surged inward and you cried
- When Watkin shifts the burden of his cares
- When Wisdom tells me that the world’s a speck
- Where sunshine flecks the green
- Where have you been, South Wind, this May-day morning
- Ye hooded witches, baleful shapes that moan
- Young Croesus went to pay his call