Leon Gellert
Long before the dawn breaks
With a bird’s cry,
I’ll be hustling on the wind
Out where you lie –
Hurrying to our rendezvous
Under the April sky.
I’ll step from out the sea again
To the shoulder of the land,
And pass the dead boy where he lies
Prone on the tideless strand,
Treading lightly lest I move
His fingers in the sand.
Do you remember how you stopped
After the sudden climb,
Sniffing the air as one who comes
On a holy thing sublime?
I’ll meet you where the breeze brought
The first sent of thyme.
I’ll meet you where we yearned that morn.
Under the April sky,
Waiting on our bellies there
For the battle cry.
I’ll meet you where I left you there
Lying all awry.
You said, “We will continue the
Discussion by and by.”
. . . . . . . .
If I could but remember what
We spoke of, you and I!
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem seems to capture the heavy weight of memory, loss, and the unfulfilled promises that war leaves behind. The speaker is returning to a place — both physical and emotional — where he once shared a moment of peace and connection with another person, perhaps a comrade or a friend, before the chaos of battle interrupted. The imagery is rich, and the emotional undertone is one of longing and regret, with a haunting recognition that time and war have stolen what could have been.
The opening lines set a quiet, almost eerie tone. The speaker moves “out where you lie” before the dawn breaks, a time that suggests stillness and a world suspended between night and day, life and death. The phrase “hustling on the wind” creates an impression of urgency and motion, but it is a motion toward something lost — not a new beginning, but a return to something irretrievable. The mention of “our rendezvous under the April sky” is poignant, evoking a sense of longing and anticipation, as though the speaker is trying to reclaim a moment in time when life was full of promise and potential.
The “dead boy” on the “tideless strand” adds to the weight of the speaker’s journey. The sea, a powerful symbol of life, change, and the unknown, is juxtaposed with the stillness of the dead, a reminder that even in the most tranquil of settings, death is present. The speaker “treads lightly lest I move / His fingers in the sand,” which suggests a kind of reverence or perhaps guilt. The dead boy’s presence is a stark reminder that not everyone survives the journey, and the speaker seems to be struggling with both his own survival and the memory of those who did not make it.
As the poem shifts, we’re drawn into a memory of a time before the war’s violence overtook them. The speaker recalls how the two of them “stopped / After the sudden climb, / Sniffing the air as one who comes / On a holy thing sublime.” This moment was peaceful, marked by a shared appreciation of nature — something as simple as the scent of thyme. There’s a quiet beauty in this recollection, but it’s shadowed by the knowledge that the moment has passed and is no longer attainable. The yearning “for the battle cry” becomes a stark contrast to the earlier peace, reminding us that the cycle of war has a way of tearing apart even the most sacred, serene moments.
The speaker’s desire to return to that place, to meet the other person “where I left you there,” speaks to an unfulfilled promise, one that the ravages of war have denied. The line, “We will continue the discussion by and by,” implies that there was a conversation left unfinished, an agreement left unfulfilled — a connection that war has torn asunder. Yet, the speaker is now unable to recall what the discussion was about. “If I could but remember what / We spoke of, you and I!” The final lines are a mournful acknowledgment of loss, not just of the person, but of the shared history between them. The speaker is left to grasp at the fleeting remnants of their bond, which have become as intangible as the wind.
Overall, the poem is a meditation on the ways in which war steals not just lives, but moments, conversations, and even memories. The speaker is searching for something lost — a connection that war has severed, a peace that has been uprooted. The imagery of the sea, the land, the thyme, and the wind all contribute to a sense of the natural world as a witness to human suffering, one that remains even as the human beings who inhabit it are forever changed by war. The poem captures the bittersweet reality of those who survive, left to wander in the aftermath, holding on to whatever fragments of the past they can remember, even as those memories slip through their fingers like sand.