Robert W. Service
He hurried away, young heart of joy, under our Devon sky!
And I watched him go, my beautiful boy, and a weary woman was I.
For my hair is grey, and his was gold; he’d the best of his life to live;
And I’d loved him so, and I’m old, I’m old; and he’s all I had to give.
Ah yes, he was proud and swift and gay, but oh how my eyes were dim!
With the sun in his heart he went away, but he took the sun with him.
For look! How the leaves are falling now,
and the winter won’t be long. . . .
Oh boy, my boy with the sunny brow, and the lips of love and of song!
How we used to sit at the day’s sweet end, we two by the firelight’s gleam,
And we’d drift to the Valley of Let’s Pretend,
on the beautiful river of Dream.
Oh dear little heart! All wealth untold would I gladly, gladly pay
Could I just for a moment closely hold that golden head to my grey.
For I gaze in the fire, and I’m seeing there a child, and he waves to me;
And I run and I hold him up in the air, and he laughs and shouts with glee;
A little bundle of love and mirth, crying: “Come, Mumsie dear!”
Ah me! If he called from the ends of the earth
I know that my heart would hear.
. . . . .
Yet the thought comes thrilling through all my pain:
how worthier could he die?
Yea, a loss like that is a glorious gain, and pitiful proud am I.
For Peace must be bought with blood and tears,
and the boys of our hearts must pay;
And so in our joy of the after-years, let us bless them every day.
And though I know there’s a hasty grave with a poor little cross at its head,
And the gold of his youth he so gladly gave, yet to me he’ll never be dead.
And the sun in my Devon lane will be gay, and my boy will be with me still,
So I’m finding the heart to smile and say: “Oh God, if it be Thy Will!”
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem is a heartbreaking yet deeply moving portrayal of a mother’s grief and pride in the face of her son’s sacrifice. The speaker’s voice is gentle and intimate, filled with both sorrow and resilience as she navigates the loss of her son to war. Through her reflections, the poem captures the personal cost of conflict and the complicated emotions that come with it—love, despair, pride, and acceptance.
The early stanzas are tender and personal, painting a vivid picture of a golden-haired boy full of life and joy. The mother’s love for her son is palpable in every line, especially as she watches him leave, knowing that his departure is more than just physical. The contrast between her age, symbolized by her grey hair, and his youth, with its gold and vitality, underscores the depth of her sacrifice. He is all she has to give, and in giving him, she offers the most precious part of herself.
As the poem unfolds, memories of their shared life take center stage, evoking the warmth and closeness of their bond. The imagery of them sitting by the fire, drifting into the “Valley of Let’s Pretend,” is both nostalgic and heart-wrenching. It highlights the chasm between the life they shared and the reality she faces now, alone and longing for the child who once filled her world with laughter and dreams.
Despite her grief, the mother finds solace in the belief that her son’s death was meaningful. She reframes her loss as part of a larger sacrifice for peace, clinging to the idea that such a loss is a “glorious gain.” This duality—deep mourning coupled with stoic pride—captures the complexity of those left behind by war. The line *“Peace must be bought with blood and tears”* resonates as a stark truth, one she accepts even as it breaks her heart.
The closing lines are particularly powerful. Though she knows her son lies in a hasty grave with a small cross, she refuses to let him be truly gone. In her mind, he remains vibrant and present, walking with her in the Devon lanes. Her faith, expressed in the prayer, “Oh God, if it be Thy Will,” reveals a quiet determination to find peace in her pain, trusting in a greater purpose beyond her understanding.
This poem doesn’t sugarcoat loss but shows how love can transcend it. The mother’s sorrow is profound, but so is her pride and her refusal to let grief define her memories. It’s a poignant reminder of the personal cost of war, the resilience of love, and the ways in which memory and faith can offer a fragile yet enduring comfort.