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Siegfried Sassoon was born on September 8, 1886, in Matfield, Kent, England. His upbringing was shaped by privilege and cultural influences—his father, Alfred Sassoon, was part of a wealthy Jewish family of merchants, while his mother, Theresa Thornycroft, came from a notable artistic lineage. Educated at Marlborough College and later at Clare College, Cambridge, Sassoon initially dabbled in poetry and the leisurely pursuits of a country gentleman.
Before World War I, Sassoon’s poetry reflected a love of nature, traditional forms, and a romantic sensibility. His early work was published privately and garnered little attention. He belonged to the Georgian poets, whose work leaned toward a pastoral and idyllic style, though his later experiences would push him far from such themes.
In 1914, with the outbreak of World War I, Sassoon enlisted in the British Army, joining the Sussex Yeomanry and later the Royal Welch Fusiliers. His military service would profoundly shape his life and work. On the battlefield, Sassoon was known for extraordinary bravery, earning him the nickname “Mad Jack.” His actions, including single-handedly capturing German trenches and rescuing wounded comrades under fire, earned him the Military Cross in 1916.
Despite his heroism, Sassoon became increasingly disillusioned with the war. By 1917, his frustration with its brutality and futility culminated in a public protest. He sent a statement to his commanding officer titled Finished with the War: A Soldier’s Declaration, which criticized the government’s prolongation of the conflict. This act could have led to a court-martial, but thanks to the intervention of his friend and fellow poet Robert Graves, Sassoon was sent to Craiglockhart War Hospital, where he was treated for neurasthenia, or “shell shock.”
At Craiglockhart, Sassoon met Wilfred Owen, a younger poet whose work he mentored and encouraged. Their friendship became one of the most significant literary connections of the war. Sassoon’s poetry during this time shifted dramatically. Gone were the pastoral themes of his early work; instead, he wrote searing critiques of the war, exposing its horror and hypocrisy. Collections like Counter-Attack and Other Poems captured the grim realities of trench warfare, with vivid imagery and biting satire. Poems such as “The General” and “Suicide in the Trenches” remain some of the most powerful anti-war literature ever written.
After the war, Sassoon struggled to find peace. He turned to writing memoirs, including his semi-autobiographical trilogy: Memoirs of a Fox-Hunting Man, Memoirs of an Infantry Officer, and Sherston’s Progress. These works provided a vivid account of his life before and during the war, blending fact and fiction in a narrative style that resonated with a broad audience. He also explored spirituality, converting to Catholicism in 1957, and continued to write poetry throughout his life.
Siegfried Sassoon’s legacy lies in his transformation of war poetry and his courage to speak out against the senselessness of conflict. His work captured both the camaraderie and the trauma of war, challenging the romanticized notions of heroism. He influenced generations of writers and remains a central figure in the literature of World War I.
Sassoon lived a long life compared to many of his contemporaries, passing away on September 1, 1967, at the age of 80. His journey from idealistic soldier to outspoken critic of war reflects a broader narrative of disillusionment shared by many in his generation. His poetry and prose continue to serve as a powerful reminder of the human cost of war.
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TOGETHER
Siegfried Sassoon
Splashing along the boggy woods all day,
And over brambled hedge and holding clay,
I shall not think of him:
THRUSHES
Siegfried Sassoon
Tossed on the glittering air they soar and skim,
Whose voices make the emptiness of light
A windy palace. Quavering from the brim
EDITORIAL IMPRESSIONS
Siegfried Sassoon
He seemed so certain “all was going well,”
As he discussed the glorious time he’d had
While visiting the trenches.
CONSCRIPTS
Siegfried Sassoon
“Fall in, that awkward squad, and strike no more
“Attractive attitudes! Dress by the right!
“The luminous rich colours that you wore
Christ And The Soldier
Siegfried Sassoon
I
The straggled soldier halted — stared at Him — Then clumsily dumped down upon his knees, Gasping
A Mystic As Soldier
Siegfried Sassoon
I lived my days apart,
Dreaming fair songs for God;
By the glory in my heart
A Whispered Tale
Siegfried Sassoon
I’d heard fool-heroes brag of where they’d been,
With stories of the glories that they’d seen.
But you, good simple soldier, seasoned well
The Investiture
Siegfried Sassoon
GOD with a Roll of Honour in His hand
Sits welcoming the heroes who have died,
While sorrowless angels ranked on either side
The Dream
Siegfried Sassoon
I
Moonlight and dew-drenched blossom, and the scent
Stand-To: Good Friday Morning
Siegfried Sassoon
I’d been on duty from two till four.
I went and stared at the dug-out door.
Down in the frowst I heard them snore.
Dead Musicians
Siegfried Sassoon
I
From you, Beethoven, Bach, Mozart,
The Hawthorn Tree
Siegfried Sassoon
Not much to me is yonder lane
Where I go every day;
But when there’s been a shower of rain
Arms And The Man
Siegfried Sassoon
Young Croesus went to pay his call
On Colonel Sawbones, Caxton Hall:
And, though his wound was healed and mended,
Invocation_
Siegfried Sassoon
Come down from heaven to meet me when my breath
Chokes, and through drumming shafts of stifling death
I stumble toward escape, to find the door
The Tombstone-Maker
Siegfried Sassoon
He primmed his loose red mouth and leaned his head
Against a sorrowing angel’s breast, and said:
‘You’d think so much bereavement would have made
Memory
Siegfried Sassoon
When I was young my heart and head were light,
And I was gay and feckless as a colt
Out in the fields, with morning in the may,
To Victory
Siegfried Sassoon
Return to greet me, colours that were my joy,
Not in the woeful crimson of men slain,
But shining as a garden; come with the streaming
Their Frailty
Siegfried Sassoon
He’s got a Blighty wound. He’s safe; and then
War’s fine and bold and bright.
She can forget the doomed and prisoned men
Joy-Bells
Siegfried Sassoon
Ring your sweet bells; but let them be farewells
To the green-vista’d gladness of the past
That changed us into soldiers; swing your bells
Before The Battle
Siegfried Sassoon
Music of whispering trees
Hushed by a broad-winged breeze
Where shaken water gleams;
The Triumph
Siegfried Sassoon
When life was a cobweb of stars for Beauty who came
In the whisper of leaves or a bird’s lone cry in the glen,
On dawn-lit hills and horizons girdled with flame
In The Pink
Siegfried Sassoon
So Davies wrote: ‘ This leaves me in the pink. ‘
Then scrawled his name: ‘ Your loving sweetheart Willie ‘
With crosses for a hug. He’d had a drink
Haunted
Siegfried Sassoon
Evening was in the wood, louring with storm.
A time of drought had sucked the weedy pool
And baked the channels; birds had done with song.
In Barracks
Siegfried Sassoon
The barrack-square, washed clean with rain,
Shines wet and wintry-grey and cold.
Young Fusiliers, strong-legged and bold,
To My Brother_
Siegfried Sassoon
Give me your hand, my brother, search my face;
Look in these eyes lest I should think of shame;
For we have made an end of all things base.
Autumn
Siegfried Sassoon
October’s bellowing anger breaks and cleaves
The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood
In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves
Battalion-Relief
Siegfried Sassoon
‘FALL in! Now get a move on.’ (Curse the rain.)
We splash away along the straggling village,
Out to the flat rich country, green with June…
The Fathers
Siegfried Sassoon
Snug at the club two fathers sat,
Gross, goggle-eyed, and full of chat.
One of them said: ‘My eldest lad
The Effect
Siegfried Sassoon
‘The effect of our bombardment was terrific.
One man told me he had never seen so many dead before.’
—War Correspondent.
Break Of Day
Siegfried Sassoon
There seemed a smell of autumn in the air
At the bleak end of night; he shivered there
In a dank, musty dug-out where he lay,
Twelve Months After
Siegfried Sassoon
Hullo! here’s my platoon, the lot I had last year.
‘The war’ll be over soon.’
‘What ’opes?’
Banishment
Siegfried Sassoon
I am banished from the patient men who fight
They smote my heart to pity, built my pride.
Shoulder to aching shoulder, side by side,
Prelude: The Troops
Siegfried Sassoon
Dim, gradual thinning of the shapeless gloom
Shudders to drizzling daybreak that reveals
Disconsolate men who stamp their sodden boots
Sick Leave
Siegfried Sassoon
When I’m asleep, dreaming and lulled and warm,—
They come, the homeless ones, the noiseless dead.
While the dim charging breakers of the storm
Reconciliation
Siegfried Sassoon
When you are standing at your hero’s grave,
Or near some homeless village where he died,
Remember, through your heart’s rekindling pride,
Two Hundred Years After
Siegfried Sassoon
Trudging by Corbie Ridge one winter’s night,
(Unless old hearsay memories tricked his sight)
Along the pallid edge of the quiet sky
The Dragon And The Undying
Siegfried Sassoon
All night the flares go up; the Dragon sings
And beats upon the dark with furious wings;
And, stung to rage by his own darting fires,
Bombardment
Siegfried Sassoon
Four days the earth was rent and torn
By bursting steel,
The houses fell about us;
Memorial Tablet
Siegfried Sassoon
Squire nagged and bullied till I went to fight,
(Under Lord Derby’s Scheme). I died in hell—
(They called it Passchendaele). My wound was slight,
In An Underground Dressing Station
Siegfried Sassoon
Quietly they set their burden down: he tried
To grin; moaned; moved his head from side to side.
Falling Asleep
Siegfried Sassoon
Voices moving about in the quiet house:
Thud of feet and a muffled shutting of doors:
Everyone yawning. Only the clocks are alert.
Remorse
Siegfried Sassoon
Lost in the swamp and welter of the pit,
He flounders off the duck-boards; only he knows
Each flash and spouting crash,—each instant lit
Fight To A Finish
Siegfried Sassoon
The boys came back. Bands played and flags were flying,
And Yellow-Pressmen thronged the sunlit street
To cheer the soldiers who’d refrained from dying,
To His Dead Body
Siegfried Sassoon
When roaring gloom surged inward and you cried,
Groping for friendly hands, and clutched, and died,
Like racing smoke, swift from your lolling head
The One-Legged Man
Siegfried Sassoon
Propped on a stick he viewed the August weald;
Squat orchard trees and oasts with painted cowls;
A homely, tangled hedge, a corn-stalked field,
“The rank stench of those bodies haunts me still”
Siegfried Sassoon
The rank stench of those bodies haunts me still
And I remember things I’d best forget.
For now we’ve marched to a green, trenchless land
Return Of The Heroes
Siegfried Sassoon
A lady watches from the crowd,
Enthusiastic, flushed, and proud._
Attack
Siegfried Sassoon
AT dawn the ridge emerges massed and dun
In the wild purple of the glow’ring sun,
Smouldering through spouts of drifting smoke that shroud
The Redeemer
Siegfried Sassoon
Darkness: the rain sluiced down; the mire was deep;
It was past twelve on a mid-winter night,
When peaceful folk in beds lay snug asleep;
I Stood With The Dead
Siegfried Sassoon
I Stood with the Dead, so forsaken and still:
When dawn was grey I stood with the Dead.
And my slow heart said, ‘You must kill, you must kill:
Wirers
Siegfried Sassoon
‘Pass it along, the wiring party’s going out’—
And yawning sentries mumble, ‘Wirers going out.’
Unravelling; twisting; hammering stakes with muffled thud,
The Poet As Hero
Siegfried Sassoon
You’ve heard me, scornful, harsh, and discontented,
Mocking and loathing War: you’ve asked me why
Of my old, silly sweetness I’ve repented—
The Kiss
Siegfried Sassoon
To these I turn, in these I trust;
Brother Lead and Sister Steel.
To his blind power I make appeal;
The Dug-out
Siegfried Sassoon
Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled,
And one arm bent across your sullen, cold,
Exhausted face? It hurts my heart to watch you,
A Letter Home
Siegfried Sassoon
(To Robert Graves)
I
Here I’m sitting in the gloom
Died Of Wounds
Siegfried Sassoon
His wet white face and miserable eyes
Brought nurses to him more than groans and sighs:
But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fell
Counter-Attack
Siegfried Sassoon
We’d gained our first objective hours before
While dawn broke like a face with blinking eyes,
Pallid, unshaved and thirsty, blind with smoke.
The Death-Bed
Siegfried Sassoon
He drowsed and was aware of silence heaped
Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls;
Aqueous like floating rays of amber light,
Alone
Siegfried Sassoon
I’ve listened: and all the sounds I heard
Were music,—wind, and stream, and bird.
With youth who sang from hill to hill
Trench Duty
Siegfried Sassoon
Shaken from sleep, and numbed and scarce awake,
Out in the trench with three hours’ watch to take,
I blunder through the splashing mirk; and then
Absolution
Siegfried Sassoon
The anguish of the earth absolves our eyes
Till beauty shines in all that we can see.
War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise,
To Any Dead Officer
Siegfried Sassoon
Well, how are things in Heaven? I wish you’d say,
Because I’d like to know that you’re all right.
Tell me, have you found everlasting day,
Song-Books Of The War
Siegfried Sassoon
In fifty years, when peace outshines
Remembrance of the battle lines,
Adventurous lads will sigh and cast
On Passing The New Menin Gate
Siegfried Sassoon
Who will remember, passing through this Gate,
the unheroic dead who fed the guns?
Who shall absolve the foulness of their fate,-
Aftermath
Siegfried Sassoon
Have you forgotten yet?…
For the world’s events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
Repression Of War Experience
Siegfried Sassoon
Now light the candles; one; two; there’s a moth;
What silly beggars they are to blunder in
And scorch their wings with glory, liquid flame—
‘Blighters’
Siegfried Sassoon
The House is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin
And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks
Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din;
Atrocities
Siegfried Sassoon
You told me, in your drunken-boasting mood,
How once you butchered prisoners. That was good!
I’m sure you felt no pity while they stood
How To Die
Siegfried Sassoon
Dark clouds are smouldering into red
While down the craters morning burns.
The dying soldier shifts his head
Sassoon’s Public Statement Of Defiance
Siegfried Sassoon
“I am making this statement as an act of wilful defiance of military authority, because I believe the war is being deliberately prolonged by those who have the power to end it.
I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers. I believe that this war, upon which I entered as a war of defence and liberation has now become a war of aggression and conquest. I believe that the purposes for which I and my fellow soldiers entered upon this war should have been so clearly stated as to have made it impossible to change them, and that, had this been done, the objects witch actuated us would now be attainable by negotiation.
Lamentations
Siegfried Sassoon
I found him in the guard-room at the Base.
From the blind darkness I had heard his crying
And blundered in. With puzzled, patient face
The Rear-Guard
Siegfried Sassoon
Groping along the tunnel, step by step,
He winked his prying torch with patching glare
From side to side, and sniffed the unwholesome air.
A Working Party
Siegfried Sassoon
Three hours ago he blundered up the trench,
Sliding and poising, groping with his boots;
Sometimes he tripped and lurched against the walls
Glory Of Women
Siegfried Sassoon
You love us when we’re heroes, home on leave,
Or wounded in a mentionable place.
You worship decorations; you believe
Does It Matter?
Siegfried Sassoon
Does it matter?-losing your legs?
For people will always be kind,
And you need not show that you mind
Base Details
Siegfried Sassoon
If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath
I’d live with scarlet Majors at the Base,
And speed glum heroes up the line to death.
Survivors
Siegfried Sassoon
No doubt they’ll soon get well; the shock and strain
Have caused their stammering, disconnected talk.
Of course they’re ‘longing to go out again,’—
Suicide In The Trenches
Siegfried Sassoon
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
The Hero
Siegfried Sassoon
Jack fell as he’d have wished,’ the mother said,
And folded up the letter that she’d read.
‘The Colonel writes so nicely.’ Something broke
Invocation
Robert Nichols
Courage born of Fire and Steel,
Thee I invoke, thee I desire
Who constant holdst the hearts that reel
To My Brother
Jeffery Day
At first, when unaccustomed to death’s sting,
I thought that, should you die, each sweetest thing,
each thing of any merit on this earth,
The General
Siegfried Sassoon
‘Good-morning; good-morning!’ the General said
When we met him last week on our way to the line.
Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of ’em dead,
They
Siegfried Sassoon
The Bishop tells us: ‘When the boys come back
‘They will not be the same; for they’ll have fought
‘In a just cause: they lead the last attack
Dreamers
Siegfried Sassoon
Soldiers are citizens of death’s grey land,
Drawing no dividend from time’s to-morrows.
In the great hour of destiny they stand,