Section: «Poems»
Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings:
artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.);
a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").
Music
I have been urged by earnest violinsAnd drunk their mellow sorrows to the slakeOf all my sorrows and my thirsting sins.My heart has beaten for a..
© Wilfred Owen
Wild With All Regrets
(Another version of "A Terre".)To Siegfried SassoonMy arms have mutinied against me -- brutes!My fingers fidget like ten idle brats,My back's been..
© Wilfred Owen
Beauty: [notes For An Unfinished Poem]
The beautiful, the fair, the elegant,Is that which pleases us, says Kant,Without a thought of interest or advantage.I used to watch men when they..
© Wilfred Owen
Schoolmistress
SchoolmistressHaving, with bold Horatius, stamped her feetAnd waved a final swashing arabesqueO'er the brave days of old, she ceased to bleat,Slapped..
© Wilfred Owen
The Letter
With B.E.F. Jun 10. Dear Wife,(Oh blast this pencil. 'Ere, Bill, lend's a knife.)I'm in the pink at present, dear.I think the war will end this..
© Wilfred Owen
Insensibility
IHappy are men who yet before they are killedCan let their veins run cold.Whom no compassion fleersOr makes their feetSore on the alleys cobbled with..
© Wilfred Owen
Spring Offensive
1 Halted against the shade of a last hill,2 They fed, and, lying easy, were at ease3 And, finding comfortable chests and knees4 Carelessly slept. But..
© Wilfred Owen
Conscious
His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.His eyes come open with a pull of will,Helped by the yellow may-flowers by his head.A blind-cord drawls..
© Wilfred Owen
The Sentry
We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew,And gave us hell, for shell on frantic shellHammered on top, but never quite burst through.Rain..
© Wilfred Owen
The Young Soldier
It is not deathWithout hereafterTo one in dearthOf life and its laughter,Nor the sweet murderDealt slow and evenUnto the martyrSmiling at heaven:It..
© Wilfred Owen
At A Calvary Near The Ancre
One ever hangs where shelled roads part.In this war He too lost a limb,But His disciples hide apart;And now the Soldiers bear with Him.Near Golgotha..
© Wilfred Owen
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..
© Wilfred Owen
The Send-Off
Down the close, darkening lanes they sang their wayTo the siding-shed,And lined the train with faces grimly gay.Their breasts were stuck all white..
© Wilfred Owen
A Terre
(Being the philosophy of many Soldiers.)Sit on the bed; I'm blind, and three parts shell,Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.Both arms..
© Wilfred Owen
Soldier's Dream
I dreamed kind Jesus fouled the big-gun gears;And caused a permanent stoppage in all bolts;And buckled with a smile Mausers and Colts;And rusted..
© Wilfred Owen
But I Was Looking At The Permanent Stars
Bugles sang, saddening the evening air,And bugles answered, sorrowful to hear.Voices of boys were by the river-side.Sleep mothered them; and left the..
© Wilfred Owen
The Parable Of The Old Man And The Young
So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,And took the fire with him, and a knife.And as they sojourned both of them together,Isaac the first-born..
© Wilfred Owen
An Imperial Elegy
Not one corner of a foreign fieldBut a span as wide as Europe;An appearance of a titan's grave,And the length thereof a thousand miles,It crossed all..
© Wilfred Owen
With An Identity Disc
If ever I dreamed of my dead nameHigh in the heart of London, unsurpassedBy Time for ever, and the Fugitive, Fame,There seeking a long sanctuary at..
© Wilfred Owen
Miners
There was a whispering in my hearth,A sigh of the coal.Grown wistful of a former earthIt might recall.I listened for a tale of leavesAnd smothered..
© Wilfred Owen
Greater Love
Red lips are not so redAs the stained stones kissed by the English dead.Kindness of wooed and wooerSeems shame to their love pure.O Love, your eyes..
© Wilfred Owen
Apologia Pro Poemate Meo
I, too, saw God through mud--The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled.War brought more glory to their eyes than blood,And gave their..
© Wilfred Owen
Elegy In April And September
Hush, thrush! Hush, missen-thrush, I listen...I heard the flush of footsteps through the loose leaves,And a low whistle by the water's brim.Still!..
© Wilfred Owen
As Bronze May Be Much Beautified
As bronze may be much beautifiedBy lying in the dark damp soil,So men who fade in dust of warfare fadeFairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.Like..
© Wilfred Owen
Cramped In That Funnelled Hole
Cramped in that funnelled hole, they watched the dawnOpen a jagged rim around; a yawnOf death's jaws, which had all but swallowed themStuck in the..
© Wilfred Owen