This poem is a bit of juvenilia written when I was 19. It is not a sonnet. It breaks at least two major rules of the sonnet form, but then Wordsworth broke them spectacularly in “Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802,” (which is almost always characterized as a sonnet), so…so what? That Wordsworthian poem is not a sonnet, despite what you may have been told. It seems that his rationale was that he wanted to change poetic language so that sounded more like the daily speech of common people. That is a political decision being imposed on art. One thinks of Hitler and Stalin. If you disapprove of “In Time of War” being in a “sonnet” sequence, then I’m rather on your side. (This was in the year when I fasted for five days for peace during the Vietnam War.) But my failure to write a sonnet in this early instance was just an ignorant mistake. I did not know all the rules about how to write a sonnet. This poem, “In Time of War” is posted here as an example of how NOT to write a sonnet. Wordsworth knew the rules. Shame on him. He could have shown restraint by writing poetry that did not destroy the nature of a very traditional form — the sonnet. But, no. He had to be arrogant in his politics. In Britain a very famous actor in a family of actors has told me personally that a poem that happens not a sonnet is a sonnet. This particular poem is fourteen lines long. THAT is why he is convinced it is a sonnet. The world is peopled by quite a few intelligent fools. Robert Frost famously said that writing poetry without rhyme is like playing tennis without a net. Breaking the rules of sonnetry is like playing tennis without a tennis court and the lines set out on it. Why bother?
In Time of War
To Thee we pray this patriotic song,
Oh, Lord, our God, the Father of all men.
Indulgence, not forgiveness for this sin,
We seek. We want to kill, a petty wrong.
Oh, give us now your blessing, loving God,
Our bullets guide between their hunted eyes,
And help us drown the roar of guns with cries
Of writhing, dying men on blood-soaked sod.
We manufacture widows with the sword.
We fuel with blood our freedom’s thirsty flame.
(What crimes are done in Liberty’s dear name!)*
But wink, and bless us in our killing, Lord.
Above all else we want dear Liberty!
Above the butchered dead (or even Thee).
~ Phillip Whidden
* On November 8, 1793, Madame Roland cried these words from the platform of the guillotine as she was facing the statue of liberty there. Immediately thereafter she was beheaded:
O Liberté, que de crimes on commet en ton nom!