Quote

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.

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
Left
Ground
Lulls
Dream
Songs
Lad
Time
Whose
Loads
Century
Dreaming
Shall
Load
Lids
Rich
Centuries
Lull
Poor
Warmth
Lads
Song
Burn
Groaned

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My friend, you would not tell with such high zest to children ardent for some desperate glory. The old lie: It is sweet and fitting that you should die for your country.
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Flying is the only active profession I could ever continue with enthusiasm after the War.
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And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.
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Numbers of the old people cannot read. Those who can seldom do
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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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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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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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Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead.
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Heart, you were never hot Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot
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Escape? There is one unwatched way: your eyes. O Beauty! Keep me good that secret gate.
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Was it for this the clay grew tall?
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The old Lie:Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.
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Walking abroad, one is the admiration of all little boys, and meets an approving glance from every eye of elderly.
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So secretly, like wrongs hushed-up, they went.
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All I ask is to be held above the barren wastes of want.
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Never fear: Thank Home, and Poetry, and the Force behind both.
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All a poet can do today is warn.
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All theological lore is becoming distasteful to me.
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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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