Wilfred Owen

(1893-1918 / Shropshire / England)

Wilfred Owen Poems

81. Anthem For Doomed Youth 12/31/2002
82. Dulce Et Decorum Est 12/31/2002

Comments about Wilfred Owen

  • Mac Miller (9/11/2018 11:09:00 PM)

    haha i beat you. I died at 26

    5 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • yo-yo (8/28/2018 5:05:00 AM)

    Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

  • old fruit (8/28/2018 4:58:00 AM)

    he is (was) very encouraging and talented

  • 6ix9ne (8/19/2018 6:59:00 PM)

    696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969696969

  • big energy (8/15/2018 8:42:00 PM)

    this fella has big energy

  • J sins (8/5/2018 6:13:00 AM)

    Ayyeee my dude Wilfred

  • geff chaucer (8/4/2018 1:26:00 PM)

    big up haterz, haterz gon hate, without guys like this we'd all be in a different place, learn some respect, from your elders, for the language.

  • Birb want seed (7/31/2018 10:28:00 PM)

    Normiesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

  • DESPACITO (7/26/2018 7:54:00 PM)

    MIII HOOOOOYY MI NOYYYY HOI

  • am lern wilfred owen (7/17/2018 5:51:00 AM)

    hi im lern some wilfred owen at my school
    im only 6 sor for bad gremer

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

Hospital Barge

Budging the sluggard ripples of the Somme,
A barge round old Cérisy slowly slewed.
Softly her engines down the current screwed,
And chuckled softly with contented hum,
Till fairy tinklings struck their croonings dumb.
The waters rumpling at the stern subdued;
The lock-gate took her bulging amplitude;
Gently from out the gurgling lock she swum.

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