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Streets, Will

· Will Streets: A Soldier’s Funeral (Poem) · Will Streets: Comrades (Poem) · Will Streets: Shelley in the Trenches 2nd May 1916 (Poem)

Will Streets: A Soldier’s Funeral (Poem)

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A Soldier’s Funeral

No splendid show of solemn funeral rite,
No stricken mourners following his bier,
No peal of organ reaching thro’ his night,
Is rendered him whom now we bury here.

‘Tis but a soldier stricken in the fight,
A youth who flung his passion into life,
Flung scorn at Death, fought true for Freedom’s might,
Till Death did close his vision in the strife.

No splendid rite is here – yet lay him low,
Ye comrades of his youth he fought beside,
Close where the winds do sigh and wild flowers grow,
Where the sweet brook doth babble by his side.
No splendour, yet we lay him tenderly
To rest, his requiem the artillery.

John William (Will) Streets
(1886 –1916)
A Soldier’s Funeral
• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: - Archive Tombeau de la jeunesse, Archive S-T, Streets, Will, WAR & PEACE


Will Streets: Comrades (Poem)

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Comrades

Those whom I’ve known, admired, ardently friended
Lie silent there wrapp’d in a soldier’s shroud;
Death broke their dreams, their aspirations ended,
These sanguine youth, noble, brave and proud.

Slowly they bear them ‘neath the dim star light
Unto their rest – the soldiers’ cemetery:
The chaplain chants a low, brief litany;
The nightingale flings rapture on the night.

Back to their Mother Earth this night return
Unnumbered youth along the far-flung line;
But ’tis for these my eyes with feeling burn,
That Memory doth erect a fadeless shrine –
For these I’ve known, admired, ardently friended
Stood by when Death their love, their youth swift ended.

John William (Will) Streets
(1886 –1916)
Comrades
• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: - Archive Tombeau de la jeunesse, Archive S-T, Streets, Will, WAR & PEACE


Will Streets: Shelley in the Trenches 2nd May 1916 (Poem)

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Shelley in the Trenches 2nd May 1916

Impressions are like winds; you feel their cool
Swift kiss upon the brow, yet know not where
They sprang to birth: so like a pool
Rippled by winds from out their forest lair
My soul was stir’d to life; its twilight fled;
There passed across its solitude a dream
That wing’d with supreme ecstasy did seem;
That gave the kiss of life to long-lost dead.

A lark trill’d in the blue: and suddenly
Upon the wings of his immortal ode
My soul rushed singing to the ether sky
And found in visions, dreams, its real abode –
I fled with Shelly, with the lark afar,
Unto the realms where the eternal are.

John William (Will) Streets
(1886 –1916)
Shelley in the Trenches 2nd May 1916
• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: - Archive Tombeau de la jeunesse, Archive S-T, Shelley, Percy Byssche, Streets, Will, WAR & PEACE


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