An Imperial Elegy by Wilfred Owen
Not one corner of a foreign field But a span as wide as Europe; An appearance of a titan’s grave, And the length thereof a thousand miles, It crossed all Europe like a mystic road, Or as the Spirits’ Pathway lieth on the night. And I heard a voice crying This is the Path of […]
But I Was Looking At The Permanent Stars by Wilfred Owen
Bugles sang, saddening the evening air, And bugles answered, sorrowful to hear. Voices of boys were by the river-side. Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad. The shadow of the morrow weighed on men. Voices of old despondency resigned, Bowed by the shadow of the morrow, slept. ( ) dying tone Of receding voices […]
I Saw His Round Mouth’s Crimson by Wilfred Owen
[I saw his round mouth’s crimson deepen as it fell], Like a Sun, in his last deep hour; Watched the magnificent recession of farewell, Clouding, half gleam, half glower, And a last splendour burn the heavens of his cheek. And in his eyes The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak, In different skies. ————— […]
I know The Music (unfinished) by Wilfred Owen
All sounds have been as music to my listening: Pacific lamentations of slow bells, The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening, Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells: Bugles that sadden all the evening air, And country bells clamouring their last appeals Before [the] music of the evening prayer; Bridges, sonorous under carriage wheels. […]
Hospital Barge At Cerisy by Wilfred Owen
Budging the sluggard ripples of the Somme, A barge round old Cérisy slowly slewed. Softly her engines down the current screwed, And chuckled softly with contented hum, Till fairy tinklings struck their croonings dumb. The waters rumpling at the stern subdued; The lock-gate took her bulging amplitude; Gently from out the gurgling lock she swum. […]
Has Your Soul Sipped? by Wilfred Owen
Has your soul sipped Of the sweetness of all sweets? Has it well supped But yet hungers and sweats? I have been witness Of a strange sweetness, All fancy surpassing Past all supposing. Passing the rays Of the rubies of morning, Or the soft rise Of the moon; or the meaning Known to the rose […]
Happiness by Wilfred Owen
Ever again to breathe pure happiness, So happy that we gave away our toy? We smiled at nothings, needing no caress? Have we not laughed too often since with Joy? Have we not stolen too strange and sorrowful wrongs For her hands’ pardoning? The sun may cleanse, And time, and starlight. Life will sing great […]
Greater Love by Wilfred Owen
Red lips are not so red As the stained stones kissed by the English dead. Kindness of wooed and wooer Seems shame to their love pure. O Love, your eyes lose lure When I behold eyes blinded in my stead! Your slender attitude Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed, Rolling and rolling there Where God […]
From My Diary, July 1914 by Wilfred Owen
Leaves Murmuring by miriads in the shimmering trees. Lives Wakening with wonder in the Pyrenees. Birds Cheerily chirping in the early day. Bards Singing of summer, scything thro’ the hay. Bees Shaking the heavy dews from bloom and frond. Boys Bursting the surface of the ebony pond. Flashes Of swimmers carving thro’ the sparkling cold. […]
At A Calvary Near The Ancre by Wilfred Owen
One ever hangs where shelled roads part. In this war He too lost a limb, But His disciples hide apart; And now the Soldiers bear with Him. Near Golgotha strolls many a priest, And in their faces there is pride That they were flesh-marked by the Beast By whom the gentle Christ’s denied The scribes […]
Apologia Pro Poemate Meo by Wilfred Owen
I, too, saw God through mud — The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled. War brought more glory to their eyes than blood, And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child. Merry it was to laugh there — Where death becomes absurd and life absurder. For power was on us as […]
Antaeus: [A Fragment] by Wilfred Owen
So neck to stubborn neck, and obstinate knee to knee, Wrestled those two; and peerless Heracles Could not prevail, nor get at any vantage… So those huge hands that, small, had snapped great snakes, Let slip the writhing of Antaeus’ wrists: Those hero’s hands that wrenched the necks of bulls, Now fumbled round the slim […]
A New Heaven (To-On Active Service) by Wilfred Owen
Seeing we never found gay fairyland (Though still we crouched by bluebells moon by moon) And missed the tide of Lethe; yet are soon For that new bridge that leaves old Styx half-spanned; Nor ever unto Mecca caravanned; Nor bugled Asgard, skilled in magic rune; Nor yearned for far Nirvana, the sweet swoon, And from […]
1914 by Wilfred Owen
War broke: and now the Winter of the world With perishing great darkness closes in. The foul tornado, centred at Berlin, Is over all the width of Europe whirled, Rending the sails of progress. Rent or furled Are all Art’s ensigns. Verse wails. Now begin Famines of thought and feeling. Love’s wine’s thin. The grain […]
The Tavern by Willa Cather
In the tavern of my heart Many a one has sat before, Drunk red wine and sung a stave, And, departing, come no more. When the night was cold without, And the ravens croaked of storm, They have sat them at my hearth, Telling me my house was warm. As the lute and cup went […]
The house where I was born (10) by Yves Bonnefoy
The house where I was born (10) by Yves Bonnefoy And then life; and once again A house where I was born. Around us The granary above what once had been a church, The gentle play of shadow from the dawn clouds, And in us that smell of the dry straw That had seemed to […]
The house where I was born (09) by Yves Bonnefoy
The house where I was born (09) by Yves Bonnefoy And then the day came When I heard the extraordinary lines in Keats, The evocation of Ruth “when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn.” I did not need to search for the meaning Of these words, For it was in […]
The house where I was born (08) by Yves Bonnefoy
The house where I was born (08) by Yves Bonnefoy I open my eyes, yes, it’s the house where I was born, Exactly as it was and nothing more. The same small dining room whose window Gives onto a peach tree that never grows. A man and a woman are seated At this window, facing […]
The house where I was born (07) by Yves Bonnefoy
The house where I was born (07) by Yves Bonnefoy I remember, it was a morning, in summer, The window was half-open, I drew near, I could see my father at the end of the garden. He was motionless, looking for something, I could not tell what, or where, beyond the world, His body was […]
The house where I was born (06) by Yves Bonnefoy
The house where I was born (06) by Yves Bonnefoy I woke up, but I was travelling, The train had rolled throughout the night, It was now going toward huge clouds That were standing, packed together, down there, Dawn rent from time to time by forks of lightning. I watched the advent of the world […]
The house where I was born (05) by Yves Bonnefoy
The house where I was born (05) by Yves Bonnefoy In the same dream I am lying in the hollow of a boat, My forehead and eyes against the curved planks Where I can hear the undercurrents Striking the bottom of the boat. All at once, the prow rises up, And I think that we’ve […]
The house where I was born (04) by Yves Bonnefoy
The house where I was born (04) by Yves Bonnefoy Another time. It was still night. Water slid Silently on the black ground, And I knew that my only task would be To remember, and I laughed, I bent down, I took from the mud A pile of branches and leaves, I lifted up the […]
The house where I was born (03) by Yves Bonnefoy
The house where I was born (03) by Yves Bonnefoy I woke up, it was the house where I was born, It was night, trees were crowding On all sides around our door, I was alone on the doorstep in the cold wind, No, not alone, for two huge beings Were speaking to each other […]
The house where I was born (02) by Yves Bonnefoy
The house where I was born (02) by Yves Bonnefoy I woke up, it was the house where I was born. It was raining softly in all the rooms, I went from one to another, looking at The water that shone on the mirrors Piled up everywhere, some broken or even Pushed between the furniture […]
The house where I was born (01) by Yves Bonnefoy
The house where I was born (01) by Yves Bonnefoy I woke up, it was the house where I was born, Sea foam splashed against the rock, Not a single bird, only the wind to open and close the wave, Everywhere on the horizon the smell of ashes, As if the hills were hiding a […]
The Hawthorn Tree by Willa Cather
Across the shimmering meadows– Ah, when he came to me! In the spring-time, In the night-time, In the starlight, Beneath the hawthorn tree. Up from the misty marsh-land– Ah, when he climbed to me! To my white bower, To my sweet rest, To my warm breast, Beneath the hawthorn tree. Ask of me what the […]
Street In Packingtown by Willa Sibert Cather
IN the gray dust before a frail gray shed, By a board fence obscenely chalked in red, A gray creek willow, left from country days, Flickers pallid in the haze. Beside the gutter of the unpaved street, Tin cans and broken glass about his feet, And a brown whisky bottle, singled out For play from […]
Spanish Johnny by Willa Sibert Cather
The old West, the old time, The old wind singing through The red, red grass a thousand miles – And Spanish Johnny, you! He’d sit beside the water ditch When all his herd was in, And never mind a child, but sing To his mandolin. The big stars, the blue night, The moon-enchanted lane; The […]
Poppies on Ludlow Castle by Willa Cather
Through halls of vanished pleasure, And hold of vanished power, And crypt of faith forgotten, A came to Ludlow tower. A-top of arch and stairway, Of crypt and donjan cell, Of council hall, and chamber, Of wall, and ditch, and well, High over grated turrets Where clinging ivies run, A thousand scarlet poppies Enticed the […]
Paradox by Willa Cather
I knew them both upon Miranda’s isle, Which is of youth a sea-bound seigniory: Misshapen Caliban, so seeming vile, And Ariel, proud prince of minstrelsy, Who did forsake the sunset for my tower And like a star above my slumber burned. The night was held in silver chains by power Of melody, in which all […]
London Roses by Willa Cather
“Rowse, Rowses! Penny a bunch!” they tell you– Slattern girls in Trafalgar, eager to sell you. Roses, roses, red in the Kensington sun, Holland Road, High Street, Bayswater, see you and smell you– Roses of London town, red till the summer is done. Roses, roses, locust and lilac, perfuming West End, East End, wondrously budding […]
Passer-By, These Are Words by Yves Bonnefoy
Passer-By, These Are Words by Yves Bonnefoy Passer-by, these are words. But instead of reading I want you to listen: to this frail Voice like that of letters eaten by grass. Lend an ear, hear first of all the happy bee Foraging in our almost rubbed-out names. It flits between two sprays of leaves, Carrying […]
Arcadian Winter by Willa Cather
Woe is me to tell it thee, Winter winds in Arcady! Scattered is thy flock and fled From the glades where once it fed, And the snow lies drifted white In the bower of our delight, Where the beech threw gracious shade On the cheek of boy and maid: And the bitter blasts make roar […]
The Example by William Henry Davies
The Example by William Henry Davies Here’s an example from A Butterfly; That on a rough, hard rock Happy can lie; Friendless and all alone On this unsweetened stone. Now let my bed be hard No care take I; I’ll make my joy like this Small Butterfly; Whose happy heart has power To make a […]
The Dark Hour by William Henry Davies
The Dark Hour by William Henry Davies And now, when merry winds do blow, And rain makes trees look fresh, An overpowering staleness holds This mortal flesh. Though well I love to feel the rain, And be by winds well blown — The mystery of mortal life Doth press me down. And, In this mood, […]
The Child and the Mariner by William Henry Davies
The Child and the Mariner by William Henry Davies A dear old couple my grandparents were, And kind to all dumb things; they saw in Heaven The lamb that Jesus petted when a child; Their faith was never draped by Doubt: to them Death was a rainbow in Eternity, That promised everlasting brightness soon. An […]
The Boy by William Henry Davies
The Boy by William Henry Davies Go, little boy, Fill thee with joy; For Time gives thee Unlicensed hours, To run in fields, And roll in flowers. A little boy Can life enjoy; If but to see The horses pass, When shut indoors Behind the glass. Go, little boy, Fill thee with joy; Fear not, […]
The Bird of Paradise by William Henry Davies
The Bird of Paradise by William Henry Davies Here comes Kate Summers, who, for gold, Takes any man to bed: “You knew my friend, Nell Barnes,” she said; “You knew Nell Barnes — she’s dead. “Nell Barnes was bad on all you men, Unclean, a thief as well; Yet all my life I have not […]
The Best Friend by William Henry Davies
The Best Friend by William Henry Davies Now shall I walk Or shall I ride? “Ride”, Pleasure said; “Walk”, Joy replied. Now what shall I — Stay home or roam? “Roam”, Pleasure said; And Joy — “stay home.” Now shall I dance, Or sit for dreams? “Sit,” answers Joy; “Dance,” Pleasure screams. Which of ye […]
Sweet Stay-at-Home by William Henry Davies
Sweet Stay-at-Home by William Henry Davies Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Well-content, Thou knowest of no strange continent; Thou hast not felt thy bosom keep A gentle motion with the deep; Thou hast not sailed in Indian seas, Where scent comes forth in every breeze. Thou hast not seen the rich grape grow For miles, as far […]