I thought of all that worked dark pits Of war, and died Digging the rock where Death reputes Peace lies indeed. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels I would go up and wash them from sweet wells, Even with truths that… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest to children ardent for some desperate glory. The old lie: It is… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
As bronze may be much beautified by lying in the dark damp soil, so men who fade in dust of warfare fade… — 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 Image
Escape? There is one unwatched way: your eyes. O Beauty! Keep me good that secret gate. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Walking abroad, one is the admiration of all little boys, and meets an approving glance from every eye of elderly. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
Those who, like the beasts, have no such Hope, pass their old age shrouded with an inward gloom. — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
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 Image
Ambition may be defined as the willingness to receive any number of hits on the nose. — 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 sloughs of… — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
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 Image
I was a boy when I first realized that the fullest life liveable was a Poet's — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
And some cease feeling Even themselves or for themselves. Dullness best solves The tease and doubt of shelling — Wilfred Owen Copy Share Image
