{"id":8911,"date":"2022-12-10T01:00:00","date_gmt":"2022-12-10T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newspaperhistory.com\/?p=8911"},"modified":"2022-12-10T01:00:00","modified_gmt":"2022-12-10T06:00:00","slug":"he-went-for-a-soldier","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/he-went-for-a-soldier\/","title":{"rendered":"He Went for a Soldier"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

From The Bridgeport Evening Farmer, December 10, 1914<\/a>. By Ruth Comfort Mitchell.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He marched away with a blithe young score of him
    With the first volunteers,
Clear-eyed and clean and sound to the core of him,
    Blushing under the cheers.
They were fine, new flags that swung a-flying there,
Oh, the pretty girls he glimpsed a-crying there,
    Pelting him with pinks and with roses \u2014
    Billy, the Soldier Boy!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not very clear in the kind young heart of him
    What the fuss was about,
But the flowers and the flags seemed part of him\u2014
    The music drowned his doubt.
It\u2019s a fine brave sight they were a-coming there
To the gay, bold tune they kept a-drumming there
    While the boasting fifes shrilled jauntily\u2014
    Billy, the Soldier Boy!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Soon he is one with the blinding smoke of it \u2014
    Volley and curse and groan;
Then he has done with the knightly joke of it \u2014
    It\u2019s rending flesh and bone.
There are pain-crazed animals a-shrieking there
And a warm blood stench that is a-reeking there;
    He fights like a rat in a corner \u2014
    Billy the Soldier Boy!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There he lies now, like a ghoulish score of him,
    Left on the field for dead;
The ground all around is smeared with the gore of him\u2014
    Even the leaves are red.
The Thing that was Billy lies a-dying there,
Writhing and a-twisting and a-crying there;
    A sickening sun grins down on him \u2014
    Billy, the Soldier Boy!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still not quite clear in the poor, wrung heart of him
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What the fuss was about,
See where he lies\u2014or a ghastly part of him\u2014
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0While life is oozing out;
There are loathsome things he sees a-crawling there;
There are hoarse-voiced crows he hears a-calling there,
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Eager for the foul feast spread for them\u2014
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Billy, the Soldier Boy!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How much longer, O Lord, shall we bear it all?
    How many more red years?
Story it and glory it and share it all,
    In seas of blood and tears?
They are braggart attitudes we\u2019ve worn so long;
They are tinsel platitudes we\u2019ve sworn so long\u2014
    We who have turned the Devil\u2019s Grindstone,
    Borne with the hell called War!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From The Bridgeport Evening Farmer, December 10, 1914. By Ruth Comfort Mitchell. He marched away with a blithe young score of him    With the first volunteers,Clear-eyed and clean and sound to the core of him,    Blushing under the cheers.They were fine, new flags that swung a-flying there,Oh, the pretty girls he glimpsed a-crying there,    Pelting him with pinks […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,10],"tags":[269],"class_list":["post-8911","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-newspapers","category-the-bridgeport-evening-farmer","tag-ruth-comfort-mitchell"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8911","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8911"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8911\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8911"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8911"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8911"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}