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"I have perceived much beauty
In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;
Heard music in the silentness of duty;
Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate."
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Apologia pro Poemate Meo (l. 25-28). . .
Norton Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. M. H. Abrams, general ed. (5th ed., 1986) W. W. Norton & Company. |
"War brought more glory to their eyes than blood,
And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child."
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Apologia pro Poemate Meo (l. 3-4). . .
Norton Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. M. H. Abrams, general ed. (5th ed., 1986) W. W. Norton & Company. |
"These men are worth
Your tears: You are not worth their merriment."
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Apologia pro Poemate Meo (l. 35-36). . .
Norton Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. M. H. Abrams, general ed. (5th ed., 1986) W. W. Norton & Company. |
"I, too, saw God through mud—"
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Apologia pro Poemate Meo (l. 1). . .
Norton Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. M. H. Abrams, general ed. (5th ed., 1986) W. W. Norton & Company. |
"For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.
There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;
And God will grow no talons at his heels,
Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls."
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Arms and the Boy (l. 9-12). . .
Oxford Book of Short Poems, The. P. J. Kavanagh and James Michie, eds. Oxford University Press. |
"these blind, blunt bullet-leads
Which long to nuzzle in the hearts of lads,"
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Arms and the Boy (l. 5-6). . .
Oxford Book of Short Poems, The. P. J. Kavanagh and James Michie, eds. Oxford University Press. |
"I tried to peg out soldierly,—no use!
One dies of war like any old disease."
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. A Terre (l. 5-6).
CTC. Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse, The. Philip Larkin, ed. (1973) Oxford University Press. |
"Dead men may envy living mites in cheese,
Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys,
And subdivide, and never come to death."
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. A Terre (l. 40-42).
CTC. Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse, The. Philip Larkin, ed. (1973) Oxford University Press. |
"My soul's a little grief, grappling your chest,
To climb your throat on sobs; easily chased
On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds."
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. A Terre (l. 60-64). . .
Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse, The. Philip Larkin, ed. (1973) Oxford University Press. |
"Soldiers may grow a soul when turned to fronds,
But here the thing's best left at home with friends."
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. A Terre (l. 44-47).
CTC. Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse, The. Philip Larkin, ed. (1973) Oxford University Press. |
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