Quote

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.

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
Patient
Pall
Minds
Blinds
Girls
Dusk
Flower
Brows
Shall
Tenderness
Girl
Flowers
Mind
Slow
Drawing
Pallor

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I find purer philosophy in a Poem than in a Conclusion of Geometry, a chemical analysis, or a physical law
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The old happiness is unreturning. Boy's griefs are not so grievous as youth's yearning. Boys have no sadness sadder than our hope.
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The old Lie:Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.
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All a poet can do today is warn.
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Escape? There is one unwatched way: your eyes. O Beauty! Keep me good that secret gate.
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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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It seemed that out of battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which titanic wars had groined.
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Heart, you were never hot Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot
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Happy are men who yet before they are killed Can let their veins run cold.
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I don't ask myself, is the life congenial to me? But, am I fitted for, am I called to, the Ministry?
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I tried to peg out soldierly,--no use! One dies of war like any old disease.
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All the poet can do today is warn. That is why true Poets must be truthful.
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The centuries will burn rich loads With which we groaned, Whose warmth shall lull their dreaming lids, While songs are crooned: But they will not dream of us poor lads, Left in the ground.
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Strange friend,' I said,'here is no cause to mourn.' 'None,'said the other,'save the undone years, The hopelessness.Whatever hope is yours Was my life also I went hunting wild After the wildest beauty in the world.
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Sweet and fitting it is to die for the fatherland.
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I have perceived much beauty In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight Heard music in the silentness of duty Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.
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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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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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I dreamed kind Jesus fouled the big-gun gears and caused a permanent stoppage in all bolts and buckled with a smile Mausers and Colts and rusted every bayonet with His tears.
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I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity. Yet these elegies are to this generation in no sense conciliatory. They may be to the next. All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true Poets must be truthful.
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