Poetic responses to war, service, and patriotic ideals

While the chaos, mayhem, and destruction of war may not immediately seem a promising topic of poetry, nevertheless, writers from Homer to Wilfred Owen to today have written compellingly about the subject.  But there are also poems that discuss what it means to serve one's country, and the ideals for which we serve.  Each poet brings his or her own viewpoint on these topics.  We'll post some poems here, as the occasion fits.  Let us know if there's a poem in the public domain that you'd like to contribute.    Click here to return to the Veterans home page

I Hear America Singing  [1860]  (on the occasion of Independence Day, 2024)
by Walt Whitman

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

Decoration Day: A Poem  (on the occasion of Memorial Day, 2024)
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest
On this Field of Grounded Arms,
Where foes no more molest,
Nor sentry’s shot alarms!

Ye have slept on the ground before,
And started to your feet
At the cannon’s sudden roar,
Or the drum’s redoubling beat.

But in this camp of Death
No sound your slumber breaks;
Here is no fevered breath,
No wound that bleeds and aches.

All is repose and peace,
Untrampled lies the sod;
The shouts of battle cease,
It is the Truce of God!

Rest, comrades, rest and sleep!
The thoughts of men shall be
As sentinels to keep
Your rest from danger free.

Your silent tents of green
We deck with fragrant flowers
Yours has the suffering been,
The memory shall be ours.

From The June, 1882 issue of The Atlantic Monthly