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.
More Quotes from Wilfred Owen:
Red lips are not so red; As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.Wilfred Owen
This time, Death had not missed.
Wilfred Owen
Sonnet To a Child Sweet is your antique body, not yet young Beauty withheld from youth that looks for youth Fair only for your father. Dear among Masters in art. To all men else uncouth Save me, who know your smile comes very old, Learnt of the happy dead that laughed with gods For earlier suns than ours have lent you gold Sly fauns and trees have given you jigs and nods. But soon your heart, hot-beating like a bird's, Shall slow down. Youth shall lop your hair And you must learn wry meanings in our words. Your smile shall dull, because too keen aware And when for hopes your hand shall be uncurled, Your eyes shall close, being open to the world.
Wilfred Owen
Flying is the only active profession I would ever continue with enthusiasm after the War.
Wilfred Owen
One dies of war like any old disease.
Wilfred Owen
My arms have mutinied against me brutesMy fingers fidget like ten idle brats,My back's been stiff for hours, damned hours.Death never gives his squad a Stand-at-ease.
Wilfred Owen
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