Author Picture

Wilfred Owen


  • A Terre
       Sit on the bed; I'm blind, and three parts shell,
  • Anthem for Doomed Youth
       What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
  • Apologia Pro Poemate Meo
       I, too, saw God through mud--
  • Arms and the Boy
       Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade
  • At a Calvary Near the Ancre
       One ever hangs where shelled roads part.
  • Conscious
       His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.
  • Disabled
       He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
  • Dulce et Decorum Est
       Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
  • Exposure
       Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us ...
  • Futility
       Move him into the sun--
  • Greater Love
       Red lips are not so red
  • Insensibility
       Happy are men who yet before they are killed
  • Mental Cases
       Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
  • On Seeing a Piece of Our Heavy Artillery Brought into Action
       Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm,
  • S. I. W.
       "I will to the King,
  • Smile, Smile, Smile
       Head to limp head, the sunk-eyed wounded scanned
  • Spring Offensive
       Halted against the shade of a last hill,
  • Strange Meeting
       It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
  • The Chances
       I mind as 'ow the night afore that show
  • The Dead-beat
       He dropped, - more sullenly than wearily,
  • The End
       After the blast of lightning from the east,
  • The Parable of the Old Man and the Young
       So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
  • The Send-off
       Down the close, darkening lanes they sang their way
  • The Sentry
       We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew,
  • The Show
       My soul looked down from a vague height with Death,
  • Wild with all Regrets
       My arms have mutinied against me -- brutes!