Robert W. Service
All day long when the shells sail over
I stand at the sandbags and take my chance;
But at night, at night I’m a reckless rover,
And over the parapet gleams Romance.
Romance! Romance! How I’ve dreamed it, writing
Dreary old records of money and mart,
Me with my head chuckful of fighting
And the blood of vikings to thrill my heart.
But little I thought that my time was coming,
Sudden and splendid, supreme and soon;
And here I am with the bullets humming
As I crawl and I curse the light of the moon.
Out alone, for adventure thirsting,
Out in mysterious No Man’s Land;
Prone with the dead when a star-shell, bursting,
Flares on the horrors on every hand.
There are ruby stars and they drip and wiggle;
And the grasses gleam in a light blood-red;
There are emerald stars, and their tails they wriggle,
And ghastly they glare on the face of the dead.
But the worst of all are the stars of whiteness,
That spill in a pool of pearly flame,
Pretty as gems in their silver brightness,
And etching a man for a bullet’s aim.
Yet oh, it’s great to be here with danger,
Here in the weird, death-pregnant dark,
In the devil’s pasture a stealthy ranger,
When the moon is decently hiding. Hark!
What was that? Was it just the shiver
Of an eerie wind or a clammy hand?
The rustle of grass, or the passing quiver
Of one of the ghosts of No Man’s Land?
It’s only at night when the ghosts awaken,
And gibber and whisper horrible things;
For to every foot of this God-forsaken
Zone of jeopard some horror clings.
Ugh! What was that? It felt like a jelly,
That flattish mound in the noisome grass;
You three big rats running free of its belly,
Out of my way and let me pass!
But if there’s horror, there’s beauty, wonder;
The trench lights gleam and the rockets play.
That flood of magnificent orange yonder
Is a battery blazing miles away.
With a rush and a singing a great shell passes;
The rifles resentfully bicker and brawl,
And here I crouch in the dew-drenched grasses,
And look and listen and love it all.
God! What a life! But I must make haste now,
Before the shadow of night be spent.
It’s little the time there is to waste now,
If I’d do the job for which I was sent.
My bombs are right and my clippers ready,
And I wriggle out to the chosen place,
When I hear a rustle . . . Steady! . . . Steady!
Who am I staring slap in the face?
There in the dark I can hear him breathing,
A foot away, and as still as death;
And my heart beats hard, and my brain is seething,
And I know he’s a Hun by the smell of his breath.
Then: “Will you surrender?” I whisper hoarsely,
For it’s death, swift death to utter a cry.
“English schwein-hund!” he murmurs coarsely.
“Then we’ll fight it out in the dark,” say I.
So we grip and we slip and we trip and wrestle
There in the gutter of No Man’s Land;
And I feel my nails in his wind-pipe nestle,
And he tries to gouge, but I bite his hand.
And he tries to squeal, but I squeeze him tighter:
“Now,” I say, “I can kill you fine;
But tell me first, you Teutonic blighter!
Have you any children?” He answers: “Nein.”
Nine! Well, I cannot kill such a father,
So I tie his hands and I leave him there.
Do I finish my little job? Well, rather;
And I get home safe with some light to spare.
Heigh-ho! by day it’s just prosy duty,
Doing the same old song and dance;
But oh! with the night — joy, glory, beauty:
Over the parapet — Life, Romance!
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem presents a striking, almost paradoxical look at war through the eyes of a soldier who both embraces and detests the brutal reality of combat. The speaker reveals his complex feelings about the violent and dangerous world he inhabits, using vivid imagery and a detached yet engaging narrative style. In this sense, the poem is both an exploration of the soldier’s psyche and a commentary on the strange, often contradictory emotions that war evokes.
At first glance, the speaker is drawn to the idea of war as an adventure—a romanticized vision of battle. “Romance! Romance! How I’ve dreamed it,” the speaker reflects, as he envisions a life full of heroic deeds, much like those of the Vikings, fueled by stories and fantasies of courage and valor. The initial tone is one of excitement, even thrill. There’s a sense of youthful enthusiasm for adventure, a desire to escape the mundane world of “dreary old records of money and mart” for something that feels grander and more meaningful. This romanticism is at odds with the grim realities the soldier eventually faces as the poem unfolds.
When the night falls, however, the soldier is thrust into the horrors of war that he had only dreamt about in his fantasies. The “shells sail over,” and he stands behind “sandbags” during the day, playing his part as a soldier. But it’s at night, when he becomes a “reckless rover” in No Man’s Land, that the truth of his situation emerges. The night, rather than bringing the thrills of adventure, presents a much darker and more unsettling reality. The stars that “drip and wiggle” are not the beautiful celestial lights of a poetic vision but “ruby stars” that drip like blood over the battlefield, marking death. The soldier describes a grotesque landscape where “the grasses gleam in a light blood-red” and where “the stars of whiteness” are “etching a man for a bullet’s aim.” This stark contrast to the romanticized notion of war conveys the dissonance between expectation and reality.
Yet, even in this brutal, nightmarish environment, there is a sense of awe and, paradoxically, attraction. The soldier finds himself mesmerized by the “weird, death-pregnant dark,” the “battery blazing miles away,” and the rockets “playing.” Even the sounds of war—the “rush” of a passing shell and the “bickering” of rifles—become elements of beauty and magnificence for the soldier. There is a strange allure to the chaos and destruction, and the speaker admits, “God! What a life!” The chaotic beauty of war seems to captivate him, pulling him deeper into its strange, seductive embrace.
The most intense moment comes when the soldier faces an enemy soldier in the dark of No Man’s Land. What begins as a tense, life-and-death struggle turns into something unexpected: a bizarre moment of humanity. Despite the soldier’s initial urge to kill the enemy, he pauses and asks the question: “Have you any children?” When the German soldier answers “Nein,” the soldier decides to spare him, tying his hands and leaving him there, alive. This moment of mercy, even in the midst of such violent conflict, serves as a surprising counterpoint to the brutal circumstances. The soldier’s internal conflict between killing and showing mercy reveals a complexity to his character and a glimpse of moral choice, however fleeting.
The contrast between the night and day is stark throughout the poem. During the day, the soldier performs his “duty,” engaging in the monotony and grim reality of trench warfare, but by night, he becomes part of the wild, chaotic romance of war. “By day it’s just prosy duty,” the soldier says, a sentiment that emphasizes the weariness and drudgery of combat. But when night falls, and he crawls over the parapet into No Man’s Land, everything changes. The night becomes a space where life and death blur, and the soldier experiences war not as duty but as a dangerous and thrilling adventure. For all the horror, there is beauty in it too.
The structure of the poem, with its frequent use of exclamation and abrupt shifts in tone, mirrors the sudden swings from one emotional extreme to another that the soldier experiences. The sudden transitions between excitement and horror, violence and beauty, create a sense of instability and unpredictability that is characteristic of the soldier’s existence in war. The rhythm of the poem also reflects the urgency and the adrenaline of the soldier’s experience, moving quickly through scenes of danger, thrill, and decision-making.
In the end, the poem presents a vision of war that is both appealing and horrifying. The soldier is caught in a paradoxical love for the adventure and danger of battle, even as he is aware of its horrors. This duality—romance and death, beauty and blood—captures the complex emotional landscape that soldiers navigate. The soldier may dream of valor and glory, but he also finds himself caught in the brutal, merciless reality of war. His ultimate choice to spare the life of his enemy, however brief, highlights the possibility of humanity even in the darkest places, suggesting that even in the face of violence and destruction, moments of compassion and moral reflection can arise.
Overall, the poem conveys the ambivalence of war, the way it both lures and repels, and how it transforms soldiers in ways both profound and unsettling. The imagery of blood, death, and violence contrasts with the unexpected flashes of humanity and tenderness, creating a powerful commentary on the contradictions of war and the complexities of human nature in its most extreme circumstances.