The speaker, a soldier in the First World War, imagines the Malvern countryside he has left behind: cloud shadows, orchards, haymaking, grey-stone cottages. He says that if he were back on the high road to Malvern, he wouldn’t need distractions to drown his fear of death. Instead he lies in “evil holes,” burrowed like an animal, alongside men who once breathed Severn air. The memory of home is vivid but painful — on a clear day, the easy sweetness of the air feels “half a curse” because it throws what he has lost into sharper relief. He names real places, Minsterworth and Framilode, as if to hold onto them. The mood is weary and elegiac: beauty and dread sit side by side, and hope is reduced to hollow phrases like “Peace to-morrow.” Throughout, he is trying to keep up heart and not give himself away, even as the war grinds on.
Contrasts — Summary
If I were on the High Road That runs to Malvern Town, I should not need to read, to smoke, My fear of death to drown; Watching the clouds, skies, shadows dappling The sweet land up and down. But here the shells rush over, We lie in evil holes, We burrow into darkness Like rabbits or like moles, Men that have breathed the Severn air, Men that have eyes and souls. To-day the grass runs over With ripples like the sea, And men stand up and drink air Easy and sweet and free; But days like this are half a curse, And Beauty troubles me. The shadows under orchards there Must be as clear and black-- At Minsterworth, at Framilode-- As though we had all come back; Were out at making hay or tedding, Piling the yellow stack. The gardens grow as freshly On Cotswold’s green and white; The grey-stone cottage colours Are lovely to the sight, As we were glad for dreams there, Slept deep at home at night; While here we die a dozen deaths A score of times a day; Trying to keep up heart and not To give ourselves away. “Two years longer,” “Peace to-morrow,” “Some time yet,” they say!