Wilfred Owen

(1893-1918 / Shropshire / England)

Wilfred Owen Poems

41. O World Of Many Worlds 4/1/2010
42. On My Songs 4/1/2010
43. On Seeing A Piece Of Our Artillery Brought Into Action 1/3/2003
44. On Seeing A Piece Of Our Heavy Artillery Brought Into Action 12/31/2002
45. Preface 1/3/2003
46. Red Lips Are Not So Red 1/1/2004
47. Roundel 11/5/2015
48. S.I.W. 1/3/2003
49. Schoolmistress 1/3/2003
50. Shadwell Stair 4/1/2010
51. Six O'Clock In Princes Street 1/3/2003
52. Smile, Smile, Smile 12/31/2002
53. Soldier's Dream 1/3/2003
54. Song Of Songs 4/1/2010
55. Sonnet To My Friend - With An Identity Disc 4/1/2010
56. Sonnet: On Seeing A Piece Of Our Heavy Artillery Brought Into Action 4/1/2010
57. Spells And Incantations 1/3/2003
58. Spring Offensive 12/31/2002
59. Storm 4/1/2010
60. Strange Meeting 12/31/2002
61. The Calls 1/3/2003
62. The Calls [unfinished] 1/1/2004
63. The Chances 12/31/2002
64. The Dead-Beat 12/31/2002
65. The End 12/31/2002
66. The Kind Ghosts 1/3/2003
67. The Last Laugh 1/3/2003
68. The Letter 1/3/2003
69. The Next War 1/3/2003
70. The Parable Of The Old Man And The Young 12/31/2002
71. The Parable Of The Young Man And The Old 1/3/2003
72. The Roads Also 1/3/2003
73. The Send-Off 12/31/2002
74. The Sentry 12/31/2002
75. The Show 12/31/2002
76. The Unreturning 4/1/2010
77. The Young Soldier 1/3/2003
78. Training 1/3/2003
79. Uriconium: An Ode 1/3/2003
80. Wild With All Regrets 12/31/2002
Best Poem of Wilfred Owen

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned out backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.- ...

Read the full of Dulce Et Decorum Est

Inspection

'You! What d'you mean by this?' I rapped.
'You dare come on parade like this?'
'Please, sir, it's-' ''Old yer mouth,' the sergeant snapped.
'I takes 'is name, sir?'-'Please, and then dismiss.'

Some days 'confined to camp' he got,
For being 'dirty on parade'.
He told me, afterwards, the damnèd spot
Was blood, his own. 'Well, blood is dirt,' I said.

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