Section: «Poems»
Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings:
artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.);
a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").
Apologia Pro Poemate Meo
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..
© Wilfred Owen
Elegy In April And September
Hush, thrush! Hush, missen-thrush, I listen...I heard the flush of footsteps through the loose leaves,And a low whistle by the water's brim.Still!..
© Wilfred Owen
As Bronze May Be Much Beautified
As bronze may be much beautifiedBy lying in the dark damp soil,So men who fade in dust of warfare fadeFairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.Like..
© Wilfred Owen
Cramped In That Funnelled Hole
Cramped in that funnelled hole, they watched the dawnOpen a jagged rim around; a yawnOf death's jaws, which had all but swallowed themStuck in the..
© Wilfred Owen
The Last Laugh
'Oh! Jesus Christ! I'm hit,' he said; and died.Whether he vainly cursed or prayed indeed,The Bullets chirped-In vain, vain, vain!Machine-guns..
© Wilfred Owen
Strange Meeting
It seemed that out of the battle I escapedDown some profound dull tunnel, long since scoopedThrough granites which Titanic wars had groined.Yet also..
© Wilfred Owen
i Saw His Round Mouth's Crimson
[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..
© Wilfred Owen
I Know The Music
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..
© Wilfred Owen
Arms And The Boy
1 Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade2 How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;3 Blue with all malice, like a madman's flash;4 And..
© Wilfred Owen
A New Heaven
Seeing we never found gay fairyland(Though still we crouched by bluebells moon by moon)And missed the tide of Lethe; yet are soonFor that new bridge..
© Wilfred Owen
Futility
1 Move him into the sun--2 Gently its touch awoke him once,3 At home, whispering of fields unsown.4 Always it awoke him, even in France,5 Until this..
© Wilfred Owen
Mental Cases
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,Drooping tongues from jays that slob their relish,Baring teeth..
© Wilfred Owen
I Know The Music
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..
© Wilfred Owen
The Next War
War's a joke for me and you,Wile we know such dreams are true.- Siegfried SassoonOut there, we've walked quite friendly up to Death,-Sat down and..
© Wilfred Owen
Exposure
I1 Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us ...2 Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent ...3 Low drooping flares..
© Wilfred Owen
Asleep
Under his helmet, up against his pack,After so many days of work and waking,Sleep took him by the brow and laid him back.There, in the happy no-time..
© Wilfred Owen
1914
War broke: and now the Winter of the worldWith perishing great darkness closes in.The foul tornado, centred at Berlin,Is over all the width of Europe..
© Wilfred Owen
Disabled
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the parkVoices of boys..
© Wilfred Owen
Anthem For Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?Only the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan patter out their..
© Wilfred Owen
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned out..
© Wilfred Owen
Ulalume
The skies they were ashen and sober;The leaves they were crisped and sere -The leaves they were withering and sere;It was night in the lonesome..
© Edgar Allan Poe
To Isadore
I. Beneath the vine-clad eaves,Whose shadows fall beforeThy lowly cottage door--Under the lilac's tremulous leaves--Within thy snowy clasped handThe..
© Edgar Allan Poe
The City Of Sin
LO! Death hath rear'd himself a throneIn a strange city, all alone,Far down within the dim west —Where the good, and the bad, and the worst, and the..
© Edgar Allan Poe
To Marie Louise (Shew)
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-Of all to whom thine absence is the night-The blotting utterly from out high heavenThe sacred sun- of all..
© Edgar Allan Poe
The Village Street
In these rapid, restless shadows,Once I walked at eventide,When a gentle, silent maiden,Walked in beauty at my side.She alone there walked beside..
© Edgar Allan Poe