Wilfred Owen Quotes on Home (4 Quotes)

Move him into the sun Gently its touch awoke him once,At home, whispering of fields unsown.Always it woke him, even in France,Until this morning and this snow.

Futility Move him into the sun Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unsown. Always it woke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow. If anything might rouse him now The kind old sun will know. Think how it wakes the seeds, Woke, once, the clays of a cold star. Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides, Full-nerved still warm too hard to stir Was it for this the clay grew tall O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all.

The Dead-Beat He dropped, more sullenly than wearily, Lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat, And none of us could kick him to his feet Just blinked at my revolver, blearily Didn't appear to know a war was on, Or see the blasted trench at which he stared. 'I'll do 'em in,' he whined, 'if this hand's spared, I'll murder them, I will.' A low voice said, 'It's Blighty, p'raps, he sees his pluck's all gone, Dreaming of all the valiant, that aren't dead Bold uncles, smiling ministerially Maybe his brave young wife, getting her fun In some new home, improved materially. It's not these stiffs have crazed him nor the Hun.' We sent him down at last, out of the way. Unwounded - stout lad, too, before that strafe. Malingering Stretcher-bearers winked, 'Not half' Next day I heard the Doc.'s well-whiskied laugh 'That scum you sent last night soon died. Hooray'

Never fear: Thank Home, and Poetry, and the Force behind both.