Maxioms by Wilfred Owen
A few, a few, too few for drums and yells,May creep back, silent, to still village wellsUp half-known roads.
A few, a few, too few for drums and yells,May creep back, silent, to still village wellsUp half-known roads.
What passing bells for these who die as cattle?Only the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan read more
What passing bells for these who die as cattle?Only the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan patter out their hasty orisons. - Anthem for Doomed Youth.
Now rather thank I God there is no riskOf gravers scoring it with florid screed.Let my inscription be this soldier's read more
Now rather thank I God there is no riskOf gravers scoring it with florid screed.Let my inscription be this soldier's disc.Wear it, sweet friend. Inscribe no date nor deed.But may thy heart-beat kiss it, night and day,Until the name grow blurred and fade away.
Behold,A ram caught in a thicket by its horns;Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.But the old man would read more
Behold,A ram caught in a thicket by its horns;Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.But the old man would not so, but slew his son...
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
