Stephen Vincent Benet
All night they marched, the infantrymen under pack,
But the hands gripping the rifles were naked bone
And the hollow pits of the eyes stared, vacant and black,
When the moonlight shone.
The gas mask lay like a blot on the empty chest,
The slanting helmets were spattered with rust and mold,
But they burrowed the hill for the machine-gun nest
As they had of old.
And the guns rolled, and the tanks, but there was no sound,
Never the gasp or rustle of living men
Where the skeletons strung their wire on disputed ground ...
I knew them, then.
'It's eighteen years,' I cried. 'You must come no more.'
'We know your names. We know that you are the dead.
Must you march forever from France and the last, blind war?'
'Fool! From the next!'
Stephen Vincent Benet's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (1936 by Stephen Vincent Benet )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- A Red, Red Rose, Robert Burns
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- A Bottle And Friend, Robert Burns
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- To A Mouse, Robert Burns
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe