Wilfred Owen Quotes

I have perceived much beauty In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight; Heard music in the silentness of duty; Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Apologia pro Poemate Meo (l. 25-28). . . Norton Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. M. H. Abrams, general ed. (5th ed., 1986) W. W. Norton & Company.
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War brought more glory to their eyes than blood, And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Apologia pro Poemate Meo (l. 3-4). . . Norton Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. M. H. Abrams, general ed. (5th ed., 1986) W. W. Norton & Company.
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These men are worth Your tears: You are not worth their merriment.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Apologia pro Poemate Meo (l. 35-36). . . Norton Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. M. H. Abrams, general ed. (5th ed., 1986) W. W. Norton & Company.
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I, too, saw God through mud—
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Apologia pro Poemate Meo (l. 1). . . Norton Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. M. H. Abrams, general ed. (5th ed., 1986) W. W. Norton & Company.
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For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple. There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple; And God will grow no talons at his heels, Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Arms and the Boy (l. 9-12). . . Oxford Book of Short Poems, The. P. J. Kavanagh and James Michie, eds. Oxford University Press.
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these blind, blunt bullet-leads Which long to nuzzle in the hearts of lads,
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. Arms and the Boy (l. 5-6). . . Oxford Book of Short Poems, The. P. J. Kavanagh and James Michie, eds. Oxford University Press.
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I tried to peg out soldierly,—no use! One dies of war like any old disease.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. A Terre (l. 5-6). CTC. Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse, The. Philip Larkin, ed. (1973) Oxford University Press.
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Dead men may envy living mites in cheese, Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys, And subdivide, and never come to death.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. A Terre (l. 40-42). CTC. Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse, The. Philip Larkin, ed. (1973) Oxford University Press.
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My soul's a little grief, grappling your chest, To climb your throat on sobs; easily chased On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. A Terre (l. 60-64). . . Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse, The. Philip Larkin, ed. (1973) Oxford University Press.
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Soldiers may grow a soul when turned to fronds, But here the thing's best left at home with friends.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), British poet. A Terre (l. 44-47). CTC. Oxford Book of Twentieth-Century English Verse, The. Philip Larkin, ed. (1973) Oxford University Press.
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