More about Wilfred Owen
Wilfred Owen -
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Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod.
Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
These men are worth your tears. You are not worth their merriment.
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.
Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!
We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.
No soldier's paid to kick against His powers.
We laughed, — knowing that better men would come,
And greater wars: when each proud fighter brags
He wars on Death, for lives; not men, for flags.
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping may something have been left,
Which must die now.
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.
Dead men may envy living mites in cheese,
Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys,
And subdivide, and never come to death.
Quote of the day
It is the greatest of all mistakes to do nothing because you can only do a little. Do what you can.
March 18, 1893
November 4, 1918
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Remarkable Last Words (or Near-Last Words)
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