Wilfred Owen


His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
Helped by the yellow may-flowers by his head.
A blind-cord drawls across the window-sill . . .
How smooth the floor of the ward is! what a rug!
And who's that talking, somewhere out of sight?
Why are they laughing? What's inside that jug?
"Nurse! Doctor!" "Yes; all right, all right."

But sudden dusk bewilders all the air —
There seems no time to want a drink of water.
Nurse looks so far away. And everywhere
Music and roses burnt through crimson slaughter.
Cold; cold; he's cold; and yet so hot:
And there's no light to see the voices by —
No time to dream, and ask — he knows not what.

Sponsored link
To advertise here, please contact us.
About the poet
Wilfred Owen
By the same poet
Strange Meeting
Greater Love
Apologia pro Poemate Meo
The Show
Mental Cases
Parable of the Old Men and the Young
Arms and the Boy
Anthem for Doomed Youth
The Send-off
Dulce et Decorum est
The Sentry
The Dead-Beat
Spring Offensive
The Chances
S. I. W.
Smile, Smile, Smile
A Terre
Wild with all Regrets
The End
Related books
Wilfred Owen at amazon.com

Home  .  Poets  .  Poems  .  Books  .  Site preferences  .  Contact

English  .  Français

© 2003-2006 Waverley Internet Design. All rights reserved.