Conscripts
"Fall in, that awkward squad, and strike no more"Attractive attitudes! Dress by the right!"The luminous rich colours that you wore"Have changed to hueless khaki in the night."Magic? What's magic got to do with you?"There's no such thing! Blood's red and skies are blue."
They gasped and sweated, marching up and down.I drilled them till they cursed my raucous shout.Love chucked his lute away and dropped his crown.Rhyme got sore heels and wanted to fall out."Left, right! Press on your butts!" They looked at meReproachful; how I longed to set them free!
I gave them lectures on Defence, Attack;They fidgeted and shuffled, yawned and sighed,And boggled at my questions. Joy was slack,And Wisdom gnawed his fingers, gloomy-eyed.Young Fancy--how I loved him all the while--Stared at his note-book with a rueful smile.
Their training done, I shipped them all to France.Where most of those I'd loved too well got killed.Rapture and pale Enchantment and Romance,And many a sickly, slender lord who'd filledMy soul long since with litanies of sin.Went home, because they couldn't stand the din.
But the kind, common ones that I despised,(Hardly a man of them I'd count as friend),What stubborn-hearted virtues they disguised!They stood and played the hero to the end,Won gold and silver medals bright with bars,And marched resplendent home with crowns and stars.
Can he then see nothing else in war? I rememberhim once turning to me and saying suddenly aproposof certain exalté poems in my 'Ardours andEndurances': 'Yes, I see all that and I agree withyou, Robert. War has made me. I think I am a man nowas well as a poet. You have said the things wellenough. Now let us nevermore say another word ofwhatever little may be good in war for the individualwho has a heart to be steeled.'
While war is a possibility man is little better thana savage and civilisation the mere moments of restbetween a succession of nightmares. It is to help toend this horror that Siegfried Sassoon and the manyothers who feel like him have continued to fight asafter the publication of this book he fought in Palestineand in France.
You civilized persons who read this book not only asa poet but as a soldier I beg of you not to turn from it.Read it again and again till its words become part ofyour consciousness. It was written by a man for mankind'ssake, that 'that which is humane' might no more be anempty phrase, that the words of Blake might blossomto a new meaning--
Thou art a man, God is no more,Thine own humanity learn to adore.
New York City,Nov. 20th-23rd.
Words in this poem
- squad n.
- A small party of men assembled for drill, inspection, or other purposes. [F. escouade, fr. Sp. escuadra, or It. squadra, (assumed) LL. exquadrare to square; L. ex + quadra a square. See Square.]
- hueless a.
- Destitute of color. Hudibras. [AS. hiwleás. See Hue color.]
- cursed a.
- Deserving a curse; execrable; hateful; detestable; abominable.
- raucous a.
- Hoarse; harsh; rough; as, a raucous, thick tone. [L. raucus.]
- defence n.
- The act of defending, or the state of being defended; protection, as from violence or danger. [F. défense, OF. defense, fem., defens, masc., fr. L. defensa (cf. Fence.]
- rueful a.
- Causing one to rue or lament; woeful; mournful; sorrowful.
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- apropos a.
- Opportunely or opportune; seasonably or seasonable. [F. ad) + propos purpose, L. proposium plan, purpose, fr. proponere to propose. See Propound.]
- nevermore adv.
- Never again; at no time hereafter. Testament of Love. Tyndale.
- adore v. t.
- To worship with profound reverence; to pay divine honors to; to honor as deity or as divine. [OE. aouren, anouren, adoren, OF. aorer, adorer, F. adorer, fr. L. adorare; ad + orare to speak, pray, os, oris, mouth. In OE. confused with honor, the French pr]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Conscripts is in the public domain. This text is taken from Counter-Attack and Other Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #8930; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Siegfried Sassoon, Conscripts, in Counter-Attack and Other Poems (1918), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #8930, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/sassoon-counter-attack/conscripts.html, id L04687.
Form and metre
Conscripts is 57 lines in 10 stanzas. The rhyme scheme is ABABCC, complete in 5 of its 10 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 79%). 89% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.8 syllables. 5 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 40% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
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.
- 1 ABABCC moreA · rightB · woreA · nightB · youC · blueC
- 2 ABABCC downA · shoutB · crownA · outB · meC · freeC
- 3 ABABCC attackA · sighedB · slackA · eyedB · whileC · smileC
- 4 ABABCC franceA · killedB · romanceA · filledB · sinC · dinC
- 5 ABABCC despisedA · friendB · disguisedA · endB · barsC · starsC
- 6 -----A-A- remember · apropos · and · with · now · wellA · of · individualA · steeled
- 9 AA moreA · adoreA
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 pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| "Fall in, that awkward squad, and strike no more | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| "Attractive attitudes! Dress by the right! | 10 | ˘/˘/˘····· |
| "The luminous rich colours that you wore | 10 | ·/˘˘·/˘··· |
| "Have changed to hueless khaki in the night. | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| "Magic? What's magic got to do with you? | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| "There's no such thing! Blood's red and skies are blue." | 10 | ·········· |
| They gasped and sweated, marching up and down. | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| I drilled them till they cursed my raucous shout. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Love chucked his lute away and dropped his crown. | 10 | ····˘/···· |
| Rhyme got sore heels and wanted to fall out. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| "Left, right! Press on your butts!" They looked at me | 10 | ·········· |
| Reproachful; how I longed to set them free! | 10 | ˘/˘······· |
| I gave them lectures on Defence, Attack; | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘/ |
| They fidgeted and shuffled, yawned and sighed, | 10 | ·/˘˘·/˘··· |
| And boggled at my questions. Joy was slack, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| And Wisdom gnawed his fingers, gloomy-eyed. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| Young Fancy--how I loved him all the while-- | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Stared at his note-book with a rueful smile. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Their training done, I shipped them all to France. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Where most of those I'd loved too well got killed. | 10 | ·········· |
| Rapture and pale Enchantment and Romance, | 10 | /˘··˘/˘·˘/ |
| And many a sickly, slender lord who'd filled | 10 | ·/·/˘/˘··· |
| My soul long since with litanies of sin. | 10 | ·····/˘˘·· |
| Went home, because they couldn't stand the din. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| But the kind, common ones that I despised, | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| (Hardly a man of them I'd count as friend), | 10 | /˘········ |
| What stubborn-hearted virtues they disguised! | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘·˘/ |
| They stood and played the hero to the end, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Won gold and silver medals bright with bars, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| And marched resplendent home with crowns and stars. | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| Can he then see nothing else in war? I remember | 13 | ····/˘····˘/˘ |
| him once turning to me and saying suddenly apropos | 14 | ··/˘···/˘/˘·˘/ |
| of certain exalté poems in my 'Ardours and | 12 | ·/˘˘//˘··/˘· |
| Endurances': 'Yes, I see all that and I agree with | 14 | ···········˘/· |
| you, Robert. War has made me. I think I am a man now | 14 | ·/˘··········· |
| as well as a poet. You have said the things well | 12 | ····/˘······ |
| enough. Now let us nevermore say another word of | 14 | ˘/···/˘··˘/˘·· |
| whatever little may be good in war for the individual | 16 | ·/˘/˘········˘/˘ |
| who has a heart to be steeled.' | 7 | ······· |
| While war is a possibility man is little better than | 15 | ·····˘/˘··/˘/˘· |
| a savage and civilisation the mere moments of rest | 15 | ·/˘········/˘·· |
| between a succession of nightmares. It is to help to | 14 | ···˘/˘·/······ |
| end this horror that Siegfried Sassoon and the many | 12 | ··/˘·/·˘/··/ |
| others who feel like him have continued to fight as | 13 | /˘·····˘/˘··· |
| after the publication of this book he fought in Palestine | 16 | ····˘/˘······/˘· |
| and in France. | 3 | ··· |
| You civilized persons who read this book not only as | 14 | ·/˘·/˘·····/˘· |
| a poet but as a soldier I beg of you not to turn from it. | 17 | ·/˘···/˘········· |
| Read it again and again till its words become part of | 14 | ··˘/·˘/···˘/·· |
| your consciousness. It was written by a man for mankind's | 13 | ·/˘··/˘····// |
| sake, that 'that which is humane' might no more be an | 12 | ·····˘/····· |
| empty phrase, that the words of Blake might blossom | 11 | /˘·······/˘ |
| to a new meaning-- | 5 | ···/˘ |
| Thou art a man, God is no more, | 8 | ········ |
| Thine own humanity learn to adore. | 10 | ··˘/˘˘··˘/ |
| New York City, | 4 | ··/˘ |
| Nov. 20th-23rd. | 6 | ˘/˘//· |
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.