Verdun

Men of Verdun

    There are five men in the moonlight
    That by their shadows stand;
    Three hobble humped on crutches,
    And two lack each a hand.

    Frogs somewhere near the roadside
    Chorus their chant absorbed:
    But a hush breathes out of the dream-light
    That far in heaven is orbed.

    It is gentle as sleep falling
    And wide as thought can span,
    The ancient peace and wonder
    That brims in the heart of man.

    Beyond the hills it shines now
    On no peace but the dead,
    On reek of trenches thunder-shocked,
    Tense fury of wills in wrestle locked,
    A chaos of crumbled red!

    The five men in the moonlight
    Chat, joke, or gaze apart.
    They talk of days and comrades,
    But each one hides his heart.

    They wear clean cap and tunic,
    As when they went to war;
    A gleam comes where the medal's pinned:
    But they will fight no more.

    The shadows, maimed and antic,
    Gesture and shape distort,
    Like mockery of a demon dumb
    Out of the hell-din whence they come
    That dogs them for his sport:

    But as if dead men were risen
    And stood before me there
    With a terrible fame about them blown
    In beams of spectral air,

    I see them, men transfigured
    As in a dream, dilate
    Fabulous with the Titan-throb
    Of battling Europe's fate;

    For history's hushed before them,
    And legend flames afresh, --
    Verdun, the name of thunder,
    Is written on their flesh.

Laurence Binyon

Verdun

    Three hundred thousand men, but not enough
    To break this township on a winding stream;
    More yet must fall, and more, ere the red stuff
    That built a nation's manhood may redeem
    The Master's hopes and realize his dream.

    They pave the way to Verdun; on their dust
    The Hohenzollerns mount and, hand in hand,
    Gaze haggard south; for yet another thrust
    And higher hills must heap, ere they may stand
    To feed their eyes upon the promised land.

    One barrow, borne of women, lifts them high,
    Built up of many a thousand human dead.
    Nursed on their mothers' bosoms, now they lie --
    A Golgotha, all shattered, torn and sped,
    A mountain for these royal feet to tread.

    A Golgotha, upon whose carrion clay
    Justice of myriad men still in the womb
    Shall heave two crosses; crucify and flay
    Two memories accurs'd; then in the tomb
    Of world-wide execration give them room.

    Verdun! a clarion thy name shall ring
    Adown the ages and the Nations see
    Thy monuments of glory. Now we bring
    Thank-offering and bend the reverent knee,
    Thou star upon the crown of Liberty!

Eden Philpotts

Guns of Verdun

    Guns of Verdun point to Metz
    From the plated parapets;
    Guns of Metz grin back again
    O'er the fields of fair Lorraine.

    Guns of Metz are long and grey,
    Growling through a summer day;
    Guns of Verdun, grey and long,
    Boom an echo of their song.

    Guns of Metz to Verdun roar,
    "Sisters, you shall foot the score;"
    Guns of Verdun say to Metz
    "Fear not, for we pay our debts."

    Guns of Metz they grumble, "When?"
    Guns of Verdun answer then,
    "Sisters, when to guard Lorraine
    Gunners lay you East again!"

Patrick R. Chalmers

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