The speaker refuses to treat World War I as a simple choice between right and wrong. He doesn’t hate Germans or love England to please newspapers—his disgust for a loud patriot almost makes the Kaiser a god. He needn’t choose between them, or between justice and injustice. War’s noise is a storm he cannot read. He imagines two witches’ cauldrons: one brewing clear weather, the other an England as beautiful and recently dead as his mother. He cares little for what historians might find in the ashes; a phoenix may brood beyond their sight. But then he joins the cry of every Englishman: God save England. They fear losing what slaves and cattle never blessed—a land that ages made, which made them from dust. She is all they know and trust, and loving her as themselves, they hate her foe. The mood shifts from weary, ironical detachment to a love that feels ancient and beyond argument.
This Is No Case of Petty Right or Wrong — Summary
THIS is no case of petty right or wrong That politicians or philosophers Can judge. I hate not Germans, nor grow hot With love of Englishmen, to please newspapers. Beside my hate for one fat patriot My hatred of the Kaiser is love true:-- A kind of god he is, banging a gong. But I have not to choose between the two, Or between justice and injustice. Dinned With war and argument I read no more Than in the storm smoking along the wind Athwart the wood. Two witches' cauldrons roar. From one the weather shall rise clear and gay; Out of the other an England beautiful And like her mother that died yesterday. Little I know or care if, being dull, I shall miss something that historians Can rake out of the ashes when perchance The phoenix broods serene above their ken. But with the best and meanest Englishmen I am one in crying, God save England, lest We lose what never slaves and cattle blessed. The ages made her that made us from the dust: She is all we know and live by, and we trust She is good and must endure, loving her so: And as we love ourselves we hate her foe.