To Commemorate Ypres and Passchendaele

This poem was put into an email from the Poetry Society in London. It comes after the two days of ceremonial respect on the eve and anniversary of the Third Battle of Ypres which is more widely known as Passchendaele.
On Sunday last the fantastic show that was created to commemorate the deaths of 100 years ago took place in the town of Ypres. It was truly a great piece of theatre delivered in a way that was both respectful and showing the horror of war. So thank you to Dame Helen Mirren, Michael Morpurgo and Warhorse, Ian Hislop and The Wipers Times, Alfie Bow and all the choirs, marching men and bands and everyone who made it spectacular. We should never forget.

War
by Hedd Wyn

Gwae fi fy myw mewn oes mor ddreng,
A Duw ar drai ar orwel pell;
O'i ôl mae dyn, yn deyrn a gwreng,
Yn codi ei awdurdod hell.

Pan deimlodd fyned ymaith Dduw
Cyfododd gledd i ladd ei frawd;
Mae sŵn yr ymladd ar ein clyw,
A'i gysgod ar fythynnod tlawd.

Mae'r hen delynau genid gynt,
Ynghrog ar gangau'r helyg draw,
A gwaedd y bechgyn lond y gwynt,
A'u gwaed yn gymysg efo'r glaw.
Why must I live in this grim age,
When, to a far horizon, God
Has ebbed away, and man, with rage,
Now wields the sceptre and the rod?

Man raised his sword, once God had gone,
To slay his brother, and the roar
Of battlefields now casts upon
Our homes the shadow of the war.

The harps to which we sang are hung,
On willow boughs, and their refrain
Drowned by the anguish of the young
Whose blood is mingled with the rain.

Hedd Wyn (born Ellis Humphrey Evans, 13 January 1887–31 July 1917) was a Welsh-language poet who was killed on the first day of the Battle of Passchendaele during World War I.