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").
Uriconium: An Ode
It lieth low near merry England's heartLike a long-buried sin; and EnglishmenForget that in its death their sires had part.And, like a sin, Time lays..
© Wilfred Owen
Training
Not this week nor this month dare I lie downIn languour under lime trees or smooth smile.Love must not kiss my face pale that is brown.My lips..
© Wilfred Owen
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..
© Wilfred Owen
The Parable Of The Young Man And The Old
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
Le Christianisme
So the church Christ was hit and buriedUnder its rubbish and its rubble.In cellars, packed-up saints long serried,Well out of hearing of our..
© Wilfred Owen
Has Your Soul Sipped?
Has your soul sippedOf the sweetness of all sweets?Has it well suppedBut yet hungers and sweats?I have been witnessOf a strange sweetness,All fancy..
© Wilfred Owen
The Roads Also
The roads also have their wistful rest,When the weathercocks perch still and roost,And the looks of men turn kind to clocksAnd the trams go empty to..
© Wilfred Owen
I Saw His Round Mouth's Crimson
I saw his round mouth's crimson deepen as it fell,Like a Sun, in his last deep hour;Watched the magnificent recession of farewell,Clouding, half..
© Wilfred Owen
The Kind Ghosts
She sleeps on soft, last breaths; but no ghost loomsOut of the stillness of her palace wall,Her wall of boys on boys and dooms on dooms.She dreams of..
© Wilfred Owen
The Dead-Beat
He dropped, - more sullenly than wearily,Lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat,And none of us could kick him to his feet;-just blinked at my..
© Wilfred Owen
The Chances
I mind as 'ow the night afore that showUs five got talking, -- we was in the know,"Over the top to-morrer; boys, we're for it,First wave we are..
© Wilfred Owen
The End
After the blast of lightning from the east,The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot throne,After the drums of time have rolled and ceasedAnd from the..
© Wilfred Owen
Happiness
Ever again to breathe pure happiness,So happy that we gave away our toy?We smiled at nothings, needing no caress?Have we not laughed too often since..
© 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 have mutinied against me,-brutes.My fingers..
© Wilfred Owen
The Show
My soul looked down from a vague height with Death,As unremembering how I rose or why,And saw a sad land, weak with sweats of dearth,Gray, cratered..
© Wilfred Owen
S.I.W.
"I will to the King,And offer him consolation in his trouble,For that man there has set his teeth to die,And being one that hates..
© Wilfred Owen
Winter Song
The browns, the olives, and the yellows died,And were swept up to heaven; where they glowedEach dawn and set of sun till Christmastide,And when the..
© Wilfred Owen
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