Sonnet To My Friend - With An Identity Disc
If ever I had dreamed of my dead name
High in the heart of London, unsurpassed
By Time for ever, and the Fugitive, Fame,
There seeking a long sanctuary at last, -
Or if I onetime hoped to hide its shame,
- Shame of success, and sorrow of defeats, -
Under those holy cypresses, the same
That shade always the quiet place of Keats,
Now rather thank I God there is no risk
Of gravers scoring it with florid screed.
Let my inscription be this soldier's disc.
Wear it, sweet friend. Inscribe no date nor deed.
But may thy heart-beat kiss it, night and day,
Until the name grow blurred and fade away.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Sonnet To My Friend - With An Identity Disc by Wilfred Owen )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- My Eyes, Kyle Schlicher
- Big Ivory!, Denis Martindale
- My Eyes Blue And Clear, Kyle Schlicher
- Tomorrow I, Sadiqullah Khan
- Elegy To A Gypsy Lass, richard harris
- Firewater, Sadiqullah Khan
- Multiplied By Each Mind, Margaret Alice Second
- de reporter, co the skipper
- Knock the Door Down, Sadiqullah Khan
- Trails Of Love, Lilly Emery