A Terre (being the philosophy of many soldiers) (Wilfred Owen Poems)
Sit on the bed. I'm blind, and three parts shell.Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.Both arms have mutinied ...
Sit on the bed. I'm blind, and three parts shell.Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.Both arms have mutinied ...
War broke: and now the Winter of the worldWith perishing great darkness closes in.The foul tornado, centred at Berlin,Is over ...
As bronze may be much beautifiedBy lying in the dark damp soil,So men who fade in dust of warfare fadeFairer, ...
It seemed that out of the battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which ...
Head to limp head, the sunk-eyed wounded scanned Yesterday's Mail; the casualties (typed small) And (large) Vast Booty from our ...
I Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us . . . Wearied we keep awake ...
This book is not about heroes. English Poetry is not yet fit to speak of them. Nor is it about ...
Halted against the shade of a last hill, They fed, and, lying easy, were at ease And, finding comfortable chests ...
I, too, saw God through mud -- The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled. War brought more glory ...
(Being the philosophy of many Soldiers.) Sit on the bed; I'm blind, and three parts shell, Be careful; can't shake ...
I Happy are men who yet before they are killed Can let their veins run cold. Whom no compassion fleers ...
He dropped, -- more sullenly than wearily, Lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat, And none of us could ...
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