Wilfred Owen

(1893-1918 / Shropshire / England)

Wilfred Owen Poems

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