Vera Mary Brittain (29 December 1893 – 29 March 1970) was an English writer, feminist and pacifist, best remembered as the author of the best-selling 1933 memoir Testament of Youth, recounting her experiences during World War I and the beginning of her journey towards pacifism.
Born in Newcastle-under-Lyme, Brittain was the daughter of a well-to-do family that owned paper mills in ... more »
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Vera Brittain Poems
Perhaps (To R.A.L.)
Perhaps some day the sun will shine again, And I shall see that still the skies are blue, And feel once more I do not live in vain,
To My Brother (In Memory of July 1st, 19...
Your battle-wounds are scars upon my heart, Received when in that grand and tragic 'show' You played your part, Two years ago,
When you have lost your all in a world's upheaval, Suffered and prayed, and found your prayers were vain, When love is dead, and hope has no renewal - These need you still; come back to them again.
The Lament of the Demobilised
'Four years,' some say consolingly. 'Oh well, What's that ? You're young. And then it must have been A very fine experience for you !'
The Superfluous Woman
Ghosts crying down the vistas of the years, Recalling words Whose echoes long have died, And kind moss grown
Quotationsmore quotations »
''Politics are usually the executive expression of human immaturity.''Vera Brittain (1896-1970), British author, pacifist. The Rebel Passion, ch. 1 (1964).
Comments about Vera Brittain
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Perhaps (To R.A.L.)
Perhaps some day the sun will shine again,
And I shall see that still the skies are blue,
And feel once more I do not live in vain,
Although bereft of You.
Perhaps the golden meadows at my feet
Will make the sunny hours of spring seem gay,
And I shall find the white May-blossoms sweet,
Though You have passed away.
Perhaps the summer woods will shimmer bright,
And crimson roses once again be fair,
And autumn harvest fields a rich delight,
Although You are not there.
Perhaps some day I shall not shrink in pain
To see the passing of the dying ...