Anthem for Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen
September - October, 1917
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.
War is Hell. God bless the men and women who have served in the past and who serve currently, and those who have given their lives so that we may enjoy peace and prosperity.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment