Poems by Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only th...

I, too, saw God through mud--
The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled.
War brou...

Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade
How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;
Bl...

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed throug...

I Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us..
Wearied we keep awa...

Red lips are not so red
As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.
Kindness of wooed a...

Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,
Drooping tongues from jays that slob their relish, ...

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And a...

Down the close, darkening lanes they sang their way
To the siding-shed,
And lined the train w...

We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew,
And gave us hell, for shell on frantic shell
H...

My soul looked down from a vague height with Death,
As unremembering how I rose or why,
And s...

Halted against the shade of a last hill,
They fed, and, lying easy, were at ease
And, find...