Robert Graves
It doesn’t matter what’s the cause,
What wrong they say we’re righting,
A curse for treaties, bonds and laws,
When we’re to do the fighting!
And since we lads are proud and true,
What else remains to do?
Lucasta, when to France your man
Returns his fourth time, hating war,
Yet laughs as calmly as he can
And flings an oath, but says no more,
That is not courage, that’s not fear—
Lucasta he’s a Fusilier,
And his pride sends him here.
Let statesmen bluster, bark and bray,
And so decide who started
This bloody war, and who’s to pay,
But he must be stout-hearted,
Must sit and stake with quiet breath,
Playing at cards with Death.
Don’t plume yourself he fights for you;
It is no courage, love, or hate,
But let us do the things we do;
It’s pride that makes the heart be great;
It is not anger, no, nor fear—
Lucasta he’s a Fusilier,
And his pride keeps him here.
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem presents a stark and somewhat disillusioned view of war, where the speaker reflects on the motivations of soldiers, particularly the Fusiliers, who continue to fight not for any noble cause or out of loyalty to political ideals, but due to a sense of pride and duty. The poem critiques the glorification of war and the simplistic notions of courage or honor that are often assigned to soldiers. Instead, it presents the reality that soldiers, like the speaker’s comrade, are driven by something more internal, more personal—pride.
The first stanza addresses the disconnect between the soldiers and the broader political context of war. The “treaties, bonds, and laws” are described as the products of politicians and statesmen, but the soldiers’ role is not to question or even care about these motivations. They “do the fighting” regardless of what is being “righted,” and the mention of Lucasta, a woman presumably waiting for her lover’s return, serves to illustrate the soldier’s dual identity—both a lover and a fighter, but with his commitment driven by something much deeper than love.
The key idea in the poem is articulated in the line, “What else remains to do?” It suggests that for the soldier, returning to war is not a choice but a matter of pride, a sense of duty that exists outside of personal feelings about the war itself. The speaker compares the soldier’s apparent calmness and seeming indifference to the war—laughing and flinging oaths, yet not expressing true fear or hatred—to the concept of “true” courage. It suggests that what the soldier demonstrates is not the courage associated with ideals or moral clarity, but a different kind of bravery: the courage born from pride and a commitment to his comrades, his regiment, and the personal identity that comes with being a Fusilier.
The stanza about “statesmen” further critiques the political motivations behind the war. The speaker dismisses the statesmen’s bluster—arguing over who is to blame for the war or who should pay for it—and instead suggests that the soldier has no time for these discussions. His role is to “sit and stake with quiet breath”—an image of the soldier playing a high-stakes game of chance with death, where the stakes are not political, but personal. Here, war is presented as an almost absurd game of fate, where the outcome is not determined by ideology, but by the random whims of life and death.
The final stanza, repeating the notion that “it is not courage, love, or hate,” reinforces the argument that the soldier’s motivation is pride. It’s a pride that comes from a deeper, perhaps more impersonal, sense of duty, which ultimately defines his actions on the battlefield. The speaker urges that this “pride” is the true force that “keeps him here,” not some heroic or romantic vision of war.
In many ways, this poem presents a critique of the glorification of soldiers and war. It dismisses the notion of “heroic” courage in favor of a more sober, even cynical view: that soldiers fight not because of lofty ideals or patriotism, but because they have internalized a sense of pride and duty that transcends the political realities of war. The soldier, here, is a man trapped by his own identity as a Fusilier, more committed to his comrades and his role than any abstract concept of victory or justice.
The poem’s tone is one of bitter resignation, yet also quiet acceptance. It offers a stark contrast to the romanticized notions of war, revealing the deep psychological complexity of soldiers who may return to the front lines, not because of a cause they believe in, but because of an identity they can’t escape—an identity bound by pride and the unspoken code of military life.