Wilfred Owen

1914 War broke: and now the Winter of the world A New Heaven Seeing we never found gay fairyland [An Imperial Elegy] Not one corner of a foreign field [Antaeus: a fragment] So neck to stubborn neck, and obstinate knee to knee, Anthem for Doomed Youth What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Apologia Pro Poemate Meo I, too, saw God through mud-- Arms and the Boy Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade [As bronze may be much beautified: a fragment] As bronze may be much beautified Asleep Under his helmet, up against his pack, At a Calvary Near the Ancre One ever hangs where shelled roads part. A Terre (being the philosophy of many soldiers) Sit on the bed. I'm blind, and three parts shell. Beauty: [Notes for an unfinished poem] The beautiful, the fair, the elegant, But I Was Looking at the Permanent Stars Bugles sang, saddening the evening air, Conscious His fingers wake, and flutter; up the bed. [Cramped in that funnelled hole: a fragment] Cramped in that funnelled hole, they watched the dawn Disabled He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark, Dulce et Decorum Est Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Elegy in April and September Hush, thrush! Hush, missen-thrush, I listen... Exposure I From My Diary, July 1914 Leaves Futility Move him into the sun-- Greater Love Red lips are not so red Happiness Ever again to breathe pure happiness, Has Your Soul Sipped? Has your soul sipped Hospital Barge at Cerisy Budging the sluggard ripples of the Somme, [I Know the Music] All sounds have been as music to my listening: Insensibility I Inspection 'You! What d'you mean by this?' I rapped. [I Saw His Round Mouth's Crimson] [I saw his round mouth's crimson deepen as it fell], Le Christianisme So the church Christ was hit and buried Maundy Thursday Between the brown hands of a server-lad Mental Cases Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight? Miners There was a whispering in my hearth, Music I have been urged by earnest violins My Shy Hand My shy hand shades a hermitage apart, - On My Songs Though unseen Poets, many and many a time, [O World of many worlds] O World of many worlds, O life of lives, Red lips are not so red Red lips are not so red Schoolmistress Schoolmistress Shadwell Stair I am the ghost of Shadwell Stair. S.I.W. "I will to the King, Six o'clock in Princes Street In twos and threes, they have not far to roam, Smile, Smile, Smile Head to limp head, the sunk-eyed wounded scanned Soldier's Dream I dreamed kind Jesus fouled the big-gun gears; Song of Songs Sing me at morn but only with your laugh; Sonnet: On Seeing a Piece of Our Heavy... Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm, Sonnet to my Friend - with an Identity Disc If ever I had dreamed of my dead name Spells and Incantations A vague pearl, a wan pearl Spring Offensive [unfinished] Halted against the shade of a last hill, Storm His face was charged with beauty as a cloud Strange Meeting It seemed that out of the battle I escaped The Calls [unfinished] A dismal fog-hoarse siren howls at dawn. The Chances I mind as 'ow the night afore that show The Dead Beat He dropped, - more sullenly than wearily, The End After the blast of lightning from the east, The Kind Ghosts She sleeps on soft, last breaths; but no ghost looms The Last Laugh 'Oh! Jesus Christ! I'm hit,' he said; and died. The Letter With B.E.F. Jun 10. Dear Wife, The Next War War's a joke for me and you, The Parable Of The Old Man And The Young So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went, The Roads Also The roads also have their wistful rest, The Send-Off Down the close, darkening lanes they sang their way The Sentry We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew, The Show My soul looked down from a vague height with Death, The Unreturning Suddenly night crushed out the day and hurled The Wrestlers So neck to neck and obstinate knee to knee The Young Soldier It is not death Training Not this week nor this month dare I lie down Uriconium: an Ode It lieth low near merry England's heart Wild With All Regrets To Siegfried Sassoon Winter Song The browns, the olives, and the yellows died,