Wilfred Owen

My arms have mutinied against me — brutes!My fingers fidget like ten idle brats,My back's been stiff for hours, damned read more

My arms have mutinied against me — brutes!My fingers fidget like ten idle brats,My back's been stiff for hours, damned hours.Death never gives his squad a Stand-at-ease.

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...

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.

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?