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About this poet

Charles Hamilton Sorley was born in Aberdeen, Scotland, on May 19, 1895. In 1900, the family moved to England when Sorley’s father, a professor of moral philosophy, accepted a post at Cambridge. In 1908 Sorely received a scholarship to Marlborough College, and after completing his studies there, he was offered a scholarship to University College, Oxford, in 1913. Before beginning at Oxford, however, he spent several months studying in Jena, Germany. Already a dedicated writer, he sent batches of poems to his mother during this time. When World War I broke out, Sorley was still in Germany, and he was detained for a night at Trier before returning to England. He enlisted in the British Army and was sent to the Western Front as a lieutenant in the Suffolk Regiment. Sorley was killed by a sniper at the Battle of Loos on October 13, 1915. His body was never found, but he is commemorated in a memorial in Poets Corner, Westminster Abbey. Thirty-seven of his poems were published posthumously as Marlborough and Other Poems (Cambridge University Press, 1916).

In Memoriam S.C.W., V.C.

There is no fitter end than this.
   No need is now to yearn nor sigh.
We know the glory that is his,
   A glory that can never die.

Surely you knew it long before,
   Knew all along that he was made
For a swift radiant morning, for
   A sacrificing swift night-shade.

This poem is in the public domain.

This poem is in the public domain.

Charles Hamilton Sorley

Charles Hamilton Sorley

Charles Hamilton Sorley was born in Aberdeen, Scotland, in 1895. He served in the British Army and was killed in action at the Battle of Loos in 1915. His poetry was published posthumously as Marlborough and Other Poems (Cambridge University Press, 1916).

by this poet

poem

From morn to midnight, all day through,
I laugh and play as others do,
I sin and chatter, just the same
As others with a different name.

And all year long upon the stage,
I dance and tumble and do rage
So vehemently, I scarcely see
The inner and eternal me.

I have a temple

poem
                                     I  

Saints have adored the lofty soul of you.
Poets have whitened at your high renown.
We stand among the many millions who
Do hourly wait to pass your pathway down.
You, so familiar, once were strange: we tried 
To live as of your presence unaware.
But now in every road on
poem

I

Saints have adorned the lofty soul of you.
Poets have whitened at your high renown.
We stand among the many millions who
Do hourly wait to pass your pathway down.
You, so familiar, once were strange: we tried
To live as of your presence unaware.
But now in every road on every