Poeticous Logo
en
English Español Français Italiano
Robert W. Service

Robert W. Service

The Call

(France, August first, 1914)
 
Far and near, high and clear,
Hark to the call of War!
Over the gorse and the golden dells,
Ringing and swinging of clamorous bells,
Praying and saying of wild farewells:
War! War! War!
 
High and low, all must go:
Hark to the shout of War!
Leave to the women the harvest yield;
Gird ye, men, for the sinister field;
A sabre instead of a scythe to wield:
War! Red War!
 
Rich and poor, lord and boor,
Hark to the blast of War!
Tinker and tailor and millionaire,
Actor in triumph and priest in prayer,
Comrades now in the hell out there,
Sweep to the fire of War!
 
Prince and page, sot and sage,
Hark to the roar of War!
Poet, professor and circus clown,
Chimney—sweeper and fop o’ the town,
Into the pot and be melted down:
Into the pot of War!
 
Women all, hear the call,
The pitiless call of War!
Look your last on your dearest ones,
Brothers and husbands, fathers, sons:
Swift they go to the ravenous guns,
The gluttonous guns of War.
 
Everywhere thrill the air
The maniac bells of War.
There will be little of sleeping to—night;
There will be wailing and weeping to—night;
Death’s red sickle is reaping to—night:
War! War! War!

#1916 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARedCrossMan

Other works by Robert W. Service...
Milking Time

There’s a drip of honeysuckle in t… There’s old Martin jogging homewa… There are cherry petals falling, a… And a score of larks (God bless '… For you see I am not really there…
Tranquillity

Oh if it were not for my wife And family increase, How gladly would I close my life In monastery peace! A sweet and scented isle I know
 1
Henry

Mary and I were twenty—two When we were wed; A well—matched pair, right smart t… The town’s folk said. For twenty years I have been true
Farewell to Verse

In youth when oft my muse was dumb… My fancy nighly dead, To make my inspiration come I stood upon my head; And thus I let the blood down flo…
The Ballad of Soulful Sam

You want me to tell you a story, a… Of our thin red kharki 'eroes, out… Out there where the bombs are bust… and the cannons like 'ell—doors sl… Just order another drink, boys, an…
The Wood-Cutter

The sky is like an envelope, One of those blue official things; And, sealing it, to mock our hope, The moon, a silver wafer, clings. What shall we find when death give…
Alias Bill

We bore him to his boneyard lot One afternoon at three; The clergyman was on the spot To earn his modest fee. We sprinkled on his coffin ld
Only a Boche

We brought him in from between the… For what’s the use of risking one’… What’s the use of tearing him loos… When he’s shot in the head, and wo… However, I say, we brought him in…
Mc'Clusky's Nell

In Mike Maloney’s Nugget bar the… An’ One—eyed Mike was shakin’ dic… An roarin’ rageful warning when th… When peekin’ through the double do… Then Mike Maloney muttered: “Hel…
Regret

It’s not for laws I’ve broken That bitter tears I’ve wept, But solemn vows I’ve spoken And promises unkept; It’s not for sins committed
Portent

Courage mes gars: La guerre est proche. I plant my little plot of beans, I sit beneath my cyprus tree; I do not know what trouble means,
Hero Worship

Said he: "You saw the Master clea… By Rushy Pond alone he sat, Serene and silent as a seer, in tweedy coat and seedy hat. you tell me you did not intrude,
The Faceless Man

I’m dead. Officially I’m dead. Their hope i… How long I stood as missing! Now,… ; & nbsp; &n… Look in my face —no likeness can y…
Cinderella

Cinderella in the street In a ragged gown, Sloven slippers on her feet, Shames our tidy town; Harsh her locks of ashen grey,
The Hearth-Stone

The leaves are sick and jaundiced,… Drift down the air; December’s sky is sodden grey, Dark with despair; A bleary dawn will light anon



Top