TCDE-Team at 22:01, 4 April 2026

2026-04-04T22:01:21Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 00:01, 5 April 2026
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	''The Guns in Sussex'' is a poem written by [[Arthur Conan Doyle]] first published in [[The Times]] on 27 july 1917, and collected in [[The Guards Came Through and Other Poems]] on 16 december 1919.		''The Guns in Sussex'' is a poem written by [[Arthur Conan Doyle]] first published in [[The Times]] on 27 july 1917, and collected in [[The Guards Came Through and Other Poems]] on 16 december 1919.


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	[[File:The-Times-1917-07-27-the-guns-in-sussex.jpg\|thumb\|250px\|right\|[[The Times]] (27 july 1917)]]		[[File:The-Times-1917-07-27-the-guns-in-sussex.jpg\|thumb\|250px\|right\|[[The Times]] (27 july 1917)]]

	Light green of grass and richer green of bush~~<br />~~		<poem>
	Slope upwards to the darkest green of fir;~~<br />~~		Light green of grass and richer green of bush
	How still! How deathly still! And yet the hush~~<br />~~		Slope upwards to the darkest green of fir;
	Shivers and trembles with some subtle stir,~~<br />~~		How still! How deathly still! And yet the hush
	Some far-off throbbing like a muffled drum,~~<br />~~		Shivers and trembles with some subtle stir,
	Beaten in broken rhythm oversea,~~<br />~~		Some far-off throbbing like a muffled drum,
	To play the last funereal march of some~~<br />~~		Beaten in broken rhythm oversea,
			To play the last funereal march of some
	Who die to-day that Europe may be free.		Who die to-day that Europe may be free.

			The deep-blue heaven, curving from the green,
	The deep-blue heaven, curving from the green,~~<br />~~		Spans with its shimmering arch the flowery zone;
	Spans with its shimmering arch the flowery zone;~~<br />~~		In all God's earth there is no gentler scene,
	In all God's earth there is no gentler scene,~~<br />~~		And yet I hear that awesome monotone;
	And yet I hear that awesome monotone;~~<br />~~		Above the circling midge's piping shrill,
	Above the circling midge's piping shrill,~~<br />~~		And the long droning of the questing bee,
	And the long droning of the questing bee,~~<br />~~		Above all sultry summer sounds, it still
	Above all sultry summer sounds, it still~~<br />~~
	Mutters its ceaseless menaces to me.		Mutters its ceaseless menaces to me.

			And as I listen, all the garden fair
	And as I listen, all the garden fair~~<br />~~		Darkens to plains of misery and death,
	Darkens to plains of misery and death,~~<br />~~		And, looking past the roses, I see there
	And, looking past the roses, I see there~~<br />~~		Those sordid furrows with the rising breath
	Those sordid furrows with the rising breath~~<br />~~		Of all things foul and black. My heart is hot
	Of all things foul and black. My heart is hot~~<br />~~		Within me as I view it, and I cry,
	Within me as I view it, and I cry,~~<br />~~		"Better the misery of these men's lot
	"Better the misery of these men's lot~~<br />~~
	Than all the peace that comes to such as I!"		Than all the peace that comes to such as I!"

			And strange that in the pauses of the sound
	And strange that in the pauses of the sound~~<br />~~		I hear the children's laughter as they roam,
	I hear the children's laughter as they roam,~~<br />~~		And then their mother calls, and all around
	And then their mother calls, and all around~~<br />~~		Rise up the gentle murmurs of a home.
	Rise up the gentle murmurs of a home.~~<br />~~		But still I gaze afar, and at the sight
	But still I gaze afar, and at the sight~~<br />~~		My whole soul softens to its heart-felt prayer,
	My whole soul softens to its heart-felt prayer,~~<br />~~		"Spirit of Justice, Thou for whom they fight,
	"Spirit of Justice, Thou for whom they fight,~~<br />~~
	Ah, turn in mercy to our lads out there!		Ah, turn in mercy to our lads out there!

			"The froward peoples have deserved Thy wrath,
			And on them is the Judgment as of old,
			But if they wandered from the hallowed path,
			Yet is their retribution manifold.
			Behold all Europe writhing on the rack,
			The sins of fathers grinding down the sons,
			How long, O Lord?" He sends no answer back,
			But still I hear the mutter of the guns.
			</poem>

	~~"The froward peoples have deserved Thy wrath,<br />~~
	~~And on them is the Judgment as of old,<br />~~
	~~But if they wandered from the hallowed path,<br />~~
	~~Yet is their retribution manifold.<br />~~
	~~Behold all Europe writhing on the rack,<br />~~
	~~The sins of fathers grinding down the sons,<br />~~
	~~How long, O Lord?" He sends no answer back,<br />~~
	~~But still I hear the mutter of the guns.~~

TCDE-Team at 14:21, 24 July 2021

2021-07-24T14:21:06Z

New page

''The Guns in Sussex'' is a poem written by [[Arthur Conan Doyle]] first published in [[The Times]] on 27 july 1917, and collected in [[The Guards Came Through and Other Poems]] on 16 december 1919.

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== Editions ==

* in ''[[The Times]]'' (27 july 1917 [UK])
* in ''[[The Gazette (Montreal)]]'' (13 august 1917 [CA])
* in ''[[The Sphere]]'' (18 august 1917 [UK]) ''last stanza only''
* in ''[[The Gazette (Montreal)]]'' (8 december 1917 [CA])
* in ''[[Current History]]'' (october 1917 [UK])
* in ''[[The Living Age]]'' (27 october 1917 [US])
* in ''[[The Guards Came Through and Other Poems]]'' (16 december 1919, John Murray [UK])
* in ''[[The Guards Came Through and Other Poems]]'' (1920, [[George H. Doran Co.]] [US])
* in ''[[Lamuriac and Other Sketches]]'', by Ruby Cromer (1927, [[Methuen & Co.]] [UK])

== The Guns in Sussex ==
[[File:The-Times-1917-07-27-the-guns-in-sussex.jpg|thumb|250px|right|[[The Times]] (27 july 1917)]]

Light green of grass and richer green of bush 
Slope upwards to the darkest green of fir; 
How still! How deathly still! And yet the hush 
Shivers and trembles with some subtle stir, 
Some far-off throbbing like a muffled drum, 
Beaten in broken rhythm oversea, 
To play the last funereal march of some 
Who die to-day that Europe may be free.

The deep-blue heaven, curving from the green, 
Spans with its shimmering arch the flowery zone; 
In all God's earth there is no gentler scene, 
And yet I hear that awesome monotone; 
Above the circling midge's piping shrill, 
And the long droning of the questing bee, 
Above all sultry summer sounds, it still 
Mutters its ceaseless menaces to me.

And as I listen, all the garden fair 
Darkens to plains of misery and death, 
And, looking past the roses, I see there 
Those sordid furrows with the rising breath 
Of all things foul and black. My heart is hot 
Within me as I view it, and I cry, 
"Better the misery of these men's lot 
Than all the peace that comes to such as I!"

And strange that in the pauses of the sound 
I hear the children's laughter as they roam, 
And then their mother calls, and all around 
Rise up the gentle murmurs of a home. 
But still I gaze afar, and at the sight 
My whole soul softens to its heart-felt prayer, 
"Spirit of Justice, Thou for whom they fight, 
Ah, turn in mercy to our lads out there!

"The froward peoples have deserved Thy wrath, 
And on them is the Judgment as of old, 
But if they wandered from the hallowed path, 
Yet is their retribution manifold. 
Behold all Europe writhing on the rack, 
The sins of fathers grinding down the sons, 
How long, O Lord?" He sends no answer back, 
But still I hear the mutter of the guns.

----
* [[Sir Arthur Conan Doyle:Complete Works|Back to Complete Works]]
* [[Sir Arthur Conan Doyle|Back to Conan Doyle]]

The Guns in Sussex - Revision history

TCDE-Team at 22:01, 4 April 2026

TCDE-Team at 14:21, 24 July 2021