T.P. Cameron Wilson
WHAT did we know of birds ?
Though the wet woods rang with their blessing,
And the trees were awake and aware with wings,
And the little secrets of mirth, that have no words,
Made even the brambles chuckle, like baby things
Who hr.d their toes too funny for any expressing.
What did we know of flowers ?
Though the fields were gay with their flaming
Poppies, like joy itself, burning the young green
maize,
And spreading their crinkled petals after the showers —
Cornflower vieing with mustard ; and all the three
of them shaming
The tired old world with its careful browns and
greys.
What did we know of summer,
The larks, and the dusty clover,
And the little furry things that were busy and starry-
eyed ?
Each of us wore his brave disguise, like a mummer,
Hoping that no one saw, when the shells came over,
The little boy who was funking — somewhere inside !
© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
You may find this and other poems here.
Analysis (AI Assisted)
T. P. Cameron Wilson’s poem *What Did We Know?* captures the disconnect between the natural world and the reality of war. Instead of directly describing battle, Wilson reflects on what soldiers missed or failed to appreciate—the beauty of birds, flowers, and summer. The poem is full of contrasts: the richness of nature against the destruction of war, youthful innocence against the hardened exterior of soldiers, joy against fear. It’s not about the battlefield itself but about the things the war took from those who fought in it.
From the start, Wilson frames the question: *What did we know of birds?* The phrasing suggests regret, as if the soldiers had access to something wonderful but never truly saw it. The woods were full of birdsong, the trees were alive with wings, and even the brambles seemed to laugh. Nature wasn’t just present; it was celebrating life. But the speaker implies that the soldiers never really noticed. The world was full of these tiny miracles, but they passed by, unaware. In war, survival replaces wonder.
The same idea repeats in the next stanza, this time with flowers. The imagery is striking—poppies like “joy itself,” standing out against young green maize. The mention of poppies is significant, given their later association with remembrance and World War I. But here, they aren’t symbols of loss; they’re vibrant, alive, unashamed of their brightness. Alongside them, cornflowers and mustard flowers stand out against the “careful browns and greys” of the world. The line stings because it suggests that war, or perhaps adulthood itself, dulls the world down. The soldiers came from a place where color and beauty existed, but they either didn’t appreciate it or lost the ability to see it.
The final stanza shifts to summer, small creatures, and the carefree feeling of childhood. Larks sing, clover dries in the dust, and “little furry things” go about their lives with a sense of wonder. Again, there’s a suggestion that this should have mattered more to the soldiers. Instead, they wore “brave disguises” like performers on a stage, hoping no one would see past them. The last two lines cut the deepest—when the shells came over, each man carried a frightened child inside. No matter how much they played the role of soldiers, fear remained.
Wilson’s poem works because it doesn’t describe war in the usual way. There are no trenches, no dead bodies, no direct suffering. Instead, he focuses on what soldiers should have known but didn’t—the small joys of life that were either ignored or stolen from them. War is often described in terms of destruction, but Wilson presents it as something that dulls perception. The tragedy isn’t just death; it’s the loss of wonder, the inability to see beauty even when it’s all around.
The structure of the poem reinforces this idea. Each section starts with the same question, as if the speaker is searching for an answer. But the real answer comes at the end: they didn’t know these things because war replaced them with fear. The bright and innocent world was always there, but for the soldiers, it was distant, unreachable. The poem doesn’t offer resolution or comfort—just the quiet realization that something precious was lost.