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

More quotes by Wilfred Owen

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No-man's land under snow is like the face of the moon: chaotic, crater ridden, uninhabitable, awful, the abode of madness.
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Dead men may envy living mites in cheese, Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys, And subdivide, and never come to death.
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Was it for this the clay grew tall? O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all?
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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 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 thought of all that worked dark pits Of war, and died Digging the rock where Death reputes Peace lies indeed.
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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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I tried to peg out soldierly,--no use! One dies of war like any old disease.
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Escape? There is one unwatched way: your eyes. O Beauty! Keep me good that secret gate.
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Be bullied, be outraged, by killed, but do not kill.
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Flying is the only active profession I could ever continue with enthusiasm after the War.
Wilfred Owen
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My subject is war, and the pity of war.
Wilfred Owen
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Those who, like the beasts, have no such Hope, pass their old age shrouded with an inward gloom.
Wilfred Owen
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All I ask is to be held above the barren wastes of want.
Wilfred Owen
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I find purer philosophy in a Poem than in a Conclusion of Geometry, a chemical analysis, or a physical law
Wilfred Owen
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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
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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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Children are not meant to be studied, but enjoyed. Only by studying to be pleased do we understand them.
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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.
Wilfred Owen
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And Death fell with me, like a deepening moan. And He, picking a manner of worm, which half had hid Its bruises in the earth, but crawled no further, Showed me its feet, the feet of many men, And the fresh-severed head of it, my head.
Wilfred Owen