In War
Fret the nonchalant noonWith your spleenOr your gay brow,For the motion of your spiritEver moves with these.
When day shall be too quiet,Deaf to youAnd your dumb smile,Untuned air shall lap the stillnessIn the old space for your voice—
The voice that once could mirrorRemote depthsOf moving being,Stirred by responsive voices near,Suddenly stilled for ever.
No ghost darkens the placesDark to One;But my eyes dream,And my heart is heavy to thinkHow it was heavy once.
In the old days when deathStalked the worldFor the flower of men,And the rose of beauty fadedAnd pined in the great gloom,
One day we dug a grave:We were vexedWith the sun’s heat.We scanned the hooded dead:At noon we sat and talked.
How death had kissed their eyesThree dread noons since,How human art wonThe dark soul to flickerTill it was lost again:
And we whom chance kept whole—But haggard,Spent—were chargedTo make a place for them who knewNo pain in any place.
The good priest came to pray;Our ears half heard,And half we thoughtOf alien things, irrelevant;And the heat and thirst were great.
The good priest read: “I heard....”Dimly my brainHeld words and lost....Sudden my blood ran cold....God! God! It could not be.
He read my brother’s name;I sank—I clutched the priest.They did not tell me it was heWas killed three days ago.
What are the great sceptred doomsTo us, caughtIn the wild wave?We break ourselves on them,My brother, our hearts and years.
Words in this poem
- nonchalant a.
- Indifferent; careless; cool. [F., fr. non not (L. non) + chaloir to concern one's self for, fr. L. calere to be warm, to be inflamed with desire, to be troubled. See Non-, and Caldron.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- stillness n.
- The quality or state of being still; quietness; silence; calmness; inactivity.
- responsive a.
- That responds; ready or inclined to respond. [Cf. F. resposif.]
- ghost n.
- The spirit; the soul of man. [OE. gast, gost, soul, spirit, AS. gast breath, spirit, soul; akin to OS. g spirit, soul, D. geest, G. geist, and prob. to E. gaze, ghastly.]
- flicker v. i.
- To flutter; to flap the wings without flying. [OE. flikeren, flekeren, to flutter, AS. flicerian, flicorian, cf. D. flikkeren to sparkle. Flacker.]
- haggard a.
- Wild or intractable; disposed to break away from duty; untamed; as, a haggard or refractory hawk. Shak [F. hagard; of German origin, and prop. meaning, of the hegde or woods, wild, untamed. See Hedge, 1st Haw, and -ard.]
- dimly adv.
- In a dim or obscure manner; not brightly or clearly; with imperfect sight.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
In War is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems by Isaac Rosenberg, Project Gutenberg ebook #66889; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Isaac Rosenberg, In War, in Poems (1922), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #66889, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/rosenberg-poems/in-war.html, id L02504.
Form and metre
In War is 60 lines in 12 verse paragraphs. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. The metre is iambic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 84%). 98% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 5.5 syllables. 10 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 38% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic trimeter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 2 ---AA quiet · you · smile · stillnessA · voiceA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Fret the nonchalant noon | 6 | ···˘/· |
| With your spleen | 3 | ··· |
| Or your gay brow, | 4 | ···· |
| For the motion of your spirit | 7 | ··/˘··/ |
| Ever moves with these. | 5 | /˘··· |
| When day shall be too quiet, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Deaf to you | 3 | ··· |
| And your dumb smile, | 4 | ···· |
| Untuned air shall lap the stillness | 8 | ······/˘ |
| In the old space for your voice— | 7 | ······· |
| The voice that once could mirror | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Remote depths | 3 | ˘/· |
| Of moving being, | 5 | ·/˘/˘ |
| Stirred by responsive voices near, | 8 | ··˘/˘/˘· |
| Suddenly stilled for ever. | 7 | /˘˘··/˘ |
| No ghost darkens the places | 7 | ··/˘·/˘ |
| Dark to One; | 3 | ··· |
| But my eyes dream, | 4 | ···· |
| And my heart is heavy to think | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| How it was heavy once. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| In the old days when death | 6 | ······ |
| Stalked the world | 3 | ··· |
| For the flower of men, | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| And the rose of beauty faded | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| And pined in the great gloom, | 6 | ······ |
| One day we dug a grave: | 6 | ······ |
| We were vexed | 3 | ··· |
| With the sun’s heat. | 4 | ···· |
| We scanned the hooded dead: | 6 | ···/˘· |
| At noon we sat and talked. | 6 | ······ |
| How death had kissed their eyes | 6 | ······ |
| Three dread noons since, | 4 | ···· |
| How human art won | 5 | ·/˘·· |
| The dark soul to flicker | 6 | ····/˘ |
| Till it was lost again: | 6 | ····˘/ |
| And we whom chance kept whole— | 6 | ······ |
| But haggard, | 3 | ·/˘ |
| Spent—were charged | 3 | ··· |
| To make a place for them who knew | 8 | ········ |
| No pain in any place. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| The good priest came to pray; | 6 | ······ |
| Our ears half heard, | 5 | /˘··· |
| And half we thought | 4 | ···· |
| Of alien things, irrelevant; | 7 | ·/˘·˘/˘ |
| And the heat and thirst were great. | 7 | ······· |
| The good priest read: “I heard....” | 6 | ······ |
| Dimly my brain | 4 | /˘·· |
| Held words and lost.... | 4 | ···· |
| Sudden my blood ran cold.... | 6 | /˘···· |
| God! God! It could not be. | 6 | ······ |
| He read my brother’s name; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| I sank— | 2 | ·· |
| I clutched the priest. | 5 | ··˘·· |
| They did not tell me it was he | 8 | ········ |
| Was killed three days ago. | 6 | ····˘/ |
| What are the great sceptred dooms | 7 | ····/˘· |
| To us, caught | 3 | ··· |
| In the wild wave? | 4 | ···· |
| We break ourselves on them, | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| My brother, our hearts and years. | 7 | ·/˘/··· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.