All the poet can do today is warn. That is why true Poets must be truthful. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
I was a boy when I first realized that the fullest life liveable was a Poet's — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Above all I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
A few, a few, too few for drums and yells, May creep back, silent, to still village wells Up half-known roads. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
I find purer philosophy in a Poem than in a Conclusion of Geometry, a chemical analysis, or a physical law — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Do you know what would hold me together on a battlefield? The sense that I was perpetuating the language in which Keats… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Move him into the sun Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unsown. Always it woke him, even… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Shall Life renew these bodies? Of a truth All death will he annul, all tears assuage? Or fill these void veins full… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
A Poem does not grow by jerks. As trees in Spring produce a new ring of tissue, so does every poet put… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
“ Consummation is consumption We cannot consummate our bliss and not consume All joys are cakes and vanish in eating All bliss… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
“These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished. Memory fingers in their hair of murders Multitudinous murders they once witnessed. Wading… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
My arms have mutinied against me brutes! My fingers fidget like ten idle brats, My back's been stiff for hours, damned hours.… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Behold, A ram caught in a thicket by its horns; Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him. But the old man… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
This book is not about heroes. English poetry is not yet fit to speak of them. Nor is it about deeds, or… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity. Yet… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
The universal pervasion of ugliness, hideous landscapes, vile noises, foul language...everything. Unnatural, broken, blasted; the distortion of the dead, whose unburiable bodies… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
“ Dulce Et Decorum Est Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
The war effects me less than it ought. I can do no service to anybody by agitating for news or making dole over the… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
Escape? There is one unwatched way: your eyes. O Beauty! Keep me good that secret gate. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
Walking abroad, one is the admiration of all little boys, and meets an approving glance from every eye of elderly. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
Those who, like the beasts, have no such Hope, pass their old age shrouded with an inward gloom. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
The English say, Yours Truly, and mean it. The Italians say, I kiss your feet, and mean, I kick your head. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
Ambition may be defined as the willingness to receive any number of hits on the nose. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
“These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished. Memory fingers in their hair of murders Multitudinous murders they once witnessed. Wading sloughs of… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
Was it for this the clay grew tall? O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all? — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
I was a boy when I first realized that the fullest life liveable was a Poet's — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
And some cease feeling Even themselves or for themselves. Dullness best solves The tease and doubt of shelling — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
After all my years of playing soldiers, and then of reading History, I have almost a mania to be in the East, to see… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share
