Wilfred Owen (1893-1918 / Shropshire / England)
1 Move him into the sun--
2 Gently its touch awoke him once,
3 At home, whispering of fields unsown.
4 Always it awoke him, even in France,
5 Until this morning and this snow.
6 If anything might rouse him now
7 The kind old sun will know.
8 Think how it wakes the seeds--
9 Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
10 Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides
11 Full-nerved,--still warm,--too hard to stir?
12 Was it for this the clay grew tall?
13 --O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
14 To break earth's sleep at all?
Wilfred Owen's Other Poems
- [I Saw His Round Mouth's Crimson]
- A New Heaven
- A Terre
- A Terre (being the philosophy of many so...
- An Imperial Elegy
- Antaeus: [A Fragment]
- Anthem For Doomed Youth
- Apologia Pro Poemate Meo
- Arms and the Boy
- As Bronze May Be Much Beautified
- At a Calvary Near the Ancre
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.