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 rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

by Wilfred Owen

Comments (53)

The monstrous anger of the guns! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
It's usually grown ups who decide there must be war. Then youth is expected to fall in They fall at war.... Very mesmerisingly crafted.
This is beautiful poem on war having touching expression and nice collocation.
a fantastic poem for such hopeless and tragic circumstance
lovely penned - Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds /// like it
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