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 (7)

Well this obviously took a lot of thought! Sigh.
Always drunk a nice and great poetry from the great poet. In fact idling mind and killing time is waste of human life and it is wonderful presentation and thinking in the poem and so likes.
My favorite poem. Beautiful words to live by.
What a raw, simple, yet so lovely notion! Ah, but Charles! There is beauty in soberiety aswell haha
'Get drunk! Stay drunk! On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever! ' I love that. And to 'Amber Zenisek', I'm sorry about your situation, but I doubt that was the point Baudelaire was trying to make. And you can't blame your father for your or your brother's behavior. As worthless as your father may be, the only person who can make your life better is you. That was a tough lesson for me to learn, so I wish you the best of luck.
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