Between the brown hands of a server-lad
The silver cross was offered to be kissed.
The men came up, lugubrious, but not sad,
And knelt reluctantly, half-prejudiced.
(And kissing, kissed the emblem of a creed.)
Then mourning women knelt; meek mouths they had,
(And kissed the Body of the Christ indeed.)
Young children came, with eager lips and glad.
(These kissed a silver doll, immensely bright.)
Then I, too, knelt before that acolyte.
Above the crucifix I bent my head:
The Christ was thin, and cold, and very dead:
And yet I bowed, yea, kissed - my lips did cling.
(I kissed the warm live hand that held the thing.)
Wilfred Owen's Other Poems
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(8 August 1884 – 29 January 1933)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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