Leon Gellert
‘At every cost,’ they said, ‘it must be done.’
They told us in the early afternoon.
We sit and wait the coming of the sun
We sit in groups, — grey groups that watch the moon.
We stretch our legs and murmur half in sleep
And touch the tips of bayonets and yarn.
Our hands are cold. They strangely grope and creep,
Tugging at ends of straps. We wait the dawn!
Some men come stumbling past in single file.
And scrape the trench’s side and scatter sand.
They trip and curse and go. Perhaps we smile.
We wait the dawn! … The dawn is close at hand!
A gentle rustling runs along the line.
‘At every cost,’ they said, ‘it must be done.’
A hundred eyes are staring for the sign.
It’s coming! Look! … Our God’s own laughing sun!
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This war poem captures the heavy, weary anticipation of soldiers on the brink of battle, blending an almost mechanical waiting process with the creeping tension that comes just before an assault. The structure of the poem, with its repetitive rhythm and gradual build-up, mirrors the long moments spent in a trench, awaiting orders or the arrival of dawn, the universal signal of action, whether it’s an attack or a shift in the cycle of warfare.
The poem opens with the dispassionate command, “At every cost, they said, ‘it must be done,’” suggesting the inevitability of the soldiers’ fate. The use of “they” here depersonalizes the commanders, emphasizing the sense of duty that overrides personal desire or safety. The soldiers are just one small part in a larger machine, with the cost being irrelevant compared to the mission’s completion. This command lingers in the air, establishing an ominous backdrop as the soldiers settle into their wait.
The soldiers’ waiting is described in a listless, almost dreamlike manner: “grey groups that watch the moon,” “stretch our legs and murmur half in sleep,” and “hands are cold.” The description of their physical state makes the soldiers seem almost ghostly—distant and half-dead from fatigue or resignation. They’re waiting, but it’s not clear for what. There’s a dullness in the atmosphere; even their movements, like “touching the tips of bayonets and yarn,” are mechanical and detached, hinting at their numbness to the violence they know is coming. This is a kind of surreal stillness that contrasts with the violence and chaos that will soon unfold. Their “strangely” groping hands suggest an almost automatic response, a kind of mindless preparation, devoid of agency.
The poem’s focus on “waiting” is central. The soldiers pass the time in these endless moments of tension, not knowing exactly when or how the battle will begin, but knowing it will come. “Some men come stumbling past in single file” conveys a sense of routine that has almost become second nature—”scraping the trench’s side” and “scattering sand” are small, unremarkable actions. The soldiers themselves seem to be carrying out tasks on autopilot, resigned to the nature of their existence in the trenches.
The repetition of “We wait the dawn!” throughout the poem creates a sense of monotony, like a ritual that’s part of the soldiers’ daily life, whether in the heat of battle or the emptiness of waiting. But even in this waiting, there’s a strange, dry humor. When “some men trip and curse and go,” there’s a moment of release, possibly a laugh, as if the absurdity of their existence momentarily bursts through the fog of routine.
But it’s the arrival of the dawn that acts as the key turning point. When it finally comes, it’s described in terms of divine inevitability, with the phrase “Our God’s own laughing sun.” This line is particularly interesting. The word “laughing” suggests a mocking tone, as if the sun, as a symbol of life and clarity, is laughing at the futility of what’s to come—at the senselessness of war, the soldiers’ inevitable participation, and the cost they’ll bear for a cause that seems distant and abstract. The sun here isn’t a warm, nurturing presence; instead, it is almost cruel in its arrival, bringing with it the reality of violence that cannot be avoided. The “laughing” sun is as much a grim reminder of the cycle of war as it is a force that drives the soldiers forward.
In terms of structure, the repetition of key phrases such as “We wait the dawn” and “At every cost,” punctuates the soldiers’ endless cycle of preparation and expectation. Their fate is sealed, and no matter how tired, disillusioned, or cold they feel, they must continue their roles. This sets up an emotional and physical tension that culminates in the final, unsettling image of the “laughing sun.”
The poem conveys a sense of hopeless inevitability. It touches on the weariness of soldiers forced to wait in long stretches of inaction, only to be thrust into violence at the first light of day. It explores the absurdity of war—the sense that human beings are reduced to mere cogs in a much larger machine, blindly following orders, and the religious metaphor of the “laughing sun” serves to highlight both the absurdity and the grim humor of their situation. The soldiers, much like the sun, are merely moving forward, without pause or agency, toward a fate that is ultimately out of their control.
Through its vivid descriptions and repetitive structure, this poem immerses the reader in the grim atmosphere of the trenches, revealing the complex emotions soldiers face before battle—boredom, disillusionment, and, ultimately, resignation to their fate.