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Escape? There is one unwatched way: your eyes. O Beauty! Keep me good that secret gate.

Wilfred Owen

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Wilfred Owen
Age: 25 †
Born: 1893
Born: March 18
Died: 1918
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
Oswestry
Shropshire
Wilfred Edward Salter Owen
Owen
Beauty
Eyes
Secret
Eye
Keep
Unwatched
Way
Gate
Good
Gates
Escape

More quotes by Wilfred Owen

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I am only conscious of any satisfaction in Scientific Reading or thinking when it rounds off into a poetical generality and vagueness.
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Flying is the only active profession I could ever continue with enthusiasm after the War.
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I was a boy when I first realized that the fullest life liveable was a Poet's
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If I have to be a soldier I must be a good one, anything else is unthinkable
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All theological lore is becoming distasteful to me.
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My subject is war, and the pity of war.
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My soul's a little grief, grappling your chest, To climb your throat on sobs easily chased On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds.
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A Poem does not grow by jerks. As trees in Spring produce a new ring of tissue, so does every poet put forth a fresh outlay of stuff at the same season.
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What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Wilfred Owen
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Was it for this the clay grew tall?
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The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
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For by my glee might many men have laughed, And of my weeping may something have been left, Which must die now.
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All a poet can do today is warn.
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So secretly, like wrongs hushed-up, they went.
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The war affects me less than it ought. But I can do no service to anybody by agitating for news or making dole over the slaughter.
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The English say, Yours Truly, and mean it. The Italians say, I kiss your feet, and mean, I kick your head.
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I, too, saw God through mud - The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled. War brought more glory to their eyes than blood, And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.
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Courage was mine, and I had mystery, Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery: To miss the march of this retreating world Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Wilfred Owen
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All the poet can do today is warn. That is why true Poets must be truthful.
Wilfred Owen
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This book is not about heroes. English poetry is not yet fit to speak of them. Nor is it about deeds, or lands, nor anything about glory, honour, might, majesty, dominion, or power, except War. Above all I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.
Wilfred Owen