Ivor Gurney

The Silent One Who died on the wires, and hung there, one of two -- Who for his hours of life had chattered through Infinite lovely chatter of Bucks accent: Yet faced unbroken wires; stepped over, and went A noble fool, faithful to his stripes -- and ended. But I weak, hungry, and willing only for the chance Of line -- to fight in the line, lay down under unbroken Wires, and saw the flashes and kept unshaken, Till the politest voice -- a finicking accent, said: ‘Do you think you might crawl through there: there's a hole.' Darkness, shot at: I smiled, as politely replied -- ‘I'm afraid not, Sir.' There was no hole no way to be seen Nothing but chance of death, after tearing of clothes. Kept flat, and watched the darkness, hearing bullets whizzing -- And thought of music -- and swore deep heart's oaths (Polite to God) and retreated and came on again, Again retreated -- a second time faced the screen. Ivor Gurney (1890-1937)

To his Love

He's gone, and all our plans
Are useless indeed.
We'll walk no more on Cotswold
Where the sheep feed
Quietly and take no heed.
His body that was so quick
Is not as you
Knew it, on Severn river
Under the blue
Driving our small boat through.
You would not know him now...
But still he died
Nobly, so cover him over
With violets of pride
Purple from Severn side.
Cover him, cover him soon!
And with thick-set
Masses of memoried flowers-
Hide that red wet
Thing I must somehow forget.
Ivor Gurney (1890-1937)