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Out there, we've walked quite friendly up to Death: Sat down and eaten with him, cool and bland, -- Pardoned his spilling mess-tins in our hand. We've sniffed the green thick odour of his breath, -- Our eyes wept, but our courage didn't writhe. He's spat at us with bullets and he's coughed Shrapnel. We chorused when he sang aloft; We whistled while he shaved us with his scythe. Oh, Death was never enemy of ours! We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum. No soldier's paid to kick against his powers. We laughed, knowing that better men would come, And greater wars: when each proud fighter brags He wars on Death, for Life; not men, for flags.
Text Authorship:
- by Wilfred Owen (1893 - 1918), "The next war", from Arts and Letters, first published 1920 [author's text checked 2 times against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- [ None yet in the database ]
The text above (or a part of it) is used in the following settings:
- by (Edward) Benjamin Britten (1913 - 1976), "Dies irae", op. 66 no. 2, published 1961 [ soprano, tenor, baritone, satb chorus, boys' chorus, orchestra, chamber orchestra, organ ], from War Requiem, no. 2
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "La prochaine guerre", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- SPA Spanish (Español) (Dr. Anthony Krupp) (Clo Blanco) , "La siguiente guerra", copyright © 2025, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2008-01-08
Line count: 14
Word count: 118
Là-bas nous avons marché gentiment jusqu'à la Mort : Nous nous sommes assis et avons mangé avec elle, froid et fade, Pardonné ses gamelles en fer se renversant dans nos mains. Nous avons reniflé l'odeur verte et épaisse de son haleine, Nos yeux pleuraient, mais notre courage n'a pas plié. Elle a craché sur nous des balles et elle a toussé Des schrapnels. Nous chantions en chœur quand elle chantait en l'air ; Nous sifflions quand elle nous rasait de sa faux. Oh, la mort n'a jamais été une ennemie pour nous ! Nous riions d'elle, nous étions de mèche avec elle, vieille copine. Pas un soldat n'aurait payé pour se rebeller contre ses pouvoirs. Nous riions, sachant que des hommes meilleurs viendraient, Et de plus grandes guerres : quand chaque fier combattant se vante, Il fait la guerre à la Mort, pour la Vie ; pas aux hommes, pour des drapeaux.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2015 by Pierre Mathé, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Wilfred Owen (1893 - 1918), "The next war", from Arts and Letters, first published 1920
This text was added to the website: 2015-03-21
Line count: 14
Word count: 147