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Was it for this the clay grew tall?

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
Grew
Fighting
Sunbeams
Futility
Clay
Tall

More quotes by Wilfred Owen

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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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So secretly, like wrongs hushed-up, they went.
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As bronze may be much beautified by lying in the dark damp soil, so men who fade in dust of warfare fade fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.
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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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Be bullied, be outraged, by killed, but do not kill.
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All I ask is to be held above the barren wastes of want.
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I tried to peg out soldierly,--no use! One dies of war like any old disease.
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Children are not meant to be studied, but enjoyed. Only by studying to be pleased do we understand them.
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My subject is war, and the pity of war.
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When I begin to eliminate from the list all those professions which are impossible from a financial point of view and then those which I feel disinclined to-it leaves nothing
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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.
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Do you know what would hold me together on a battlefield? The sense that I was perpetuating the language in which Keats and the rest of them wrote!
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All a poet can do today is warn.
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What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
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Sweet and fitting it is to die for the fatherland.
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Happy are men who yet before they are killed Can let their veins run cold.
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And some cease feeling Even themselves or for themselves. Dullness best solves The tease and doubt of shelling
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Whatever mourns when many leave these shores: Whatever shares The eternal reciprocity of tears.
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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.
Wilfred Owen
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Walking abroad, one is the admiration of all little boys, and meets an approving glance from every eye of elderly.
Wilfred Owen