Charles Hamilton Sorley (19 May 1895 – 13 October 1915 / Aberdeen, Scotland)
Poems of Charles Hamilton Sorley
|1.||A Letter From the Trenches to a School Friend||4/16/2010|
|2.||All the Hills and Vales Along||1/3/2003|
|7.||Saints Have Adored the Lofty Soul of You||1/3/2003|
|8.||Such, Such Is Death||1/3/2003|
|9.||The Song of the Ungirt Runners||1/3/2003|
|12.||When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead||1/3/2003|
We burrowed night and day with tools of lead,
Heaped the bank up and cast it in a ring
And hurled the earth above. And Caesar said,
"Why, it is excellent. I like the thing."
We, who are dead,
Made it, and wrought, and Caesar liked the thing.
And here we strove, and here we felt each vein
Ice-bound, each limb fast-frozen, all night long.