The author describes war from the soldier's perspective--"we cursed through sludge . . . Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, but limped on, blood shod." The author remembers a soldier dying in poison gas. He challenges the reader: If you only knew the horrors of war, you would not repeat "the old Lie: Dulce et decorum est / Pro patria mori."
This poem begins: "Move him into the sun." It has snowed overnight, but now it grows warmer. The sun has always awakened him before, but will it now? "Think how it wakes the seeds." It even gave life to "the clays of a cold star." Surely, there must be more warmth, more life, and more meaning than this. "O what made fatuous sunbeams toil / To break earth's sleep at all?" [14 lines]
The narrator in this three stanza poem observes men in a mental hospital who suffer from what at the time (World War I) was called shell shock and now might be labeled post-traumatic stress disorder. In any case, they are insane; they relive the "batter of guns and shatter of flying muscles."
For these tortured souls, "sunlight seems a bloodsmear" and "dawn breaks open like a wound that bleeds afresh." They cannot escape their hideous memories of the warfare. The narrator sees them as living in hell, and he accepts for all society the blame for what has happened to them--we, he says, have "dealt them war and madness."
