Maxioms by Wilfred Owen
Move him into the sun —Gently its touch awoke him once,At home, whispering of fields unsown.Always it woke him, even read more
Move him into the sun —Gently its touch awoke him once,At home, whispering of fields unsown.Always it woke him, even in France,Until this morning and this snow.
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.
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
Shall Life renew these bodies? Of a truthAll death will he annul, all tears assuage?Or fill these void veins full read more
Shall Life renew these bodies? Of a truthAll death will he annul, all tears assuage?Or fill these void veins full again with youthAnd wash with an immortal water age?
