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Wilfred Owen

Greater Love

Red lips are not so red
    As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.
Kindness of wooed and wooer
Seems shame to their love pure.
O Love, your eyes lose lure
    When I behold eyes blinded in my stead!

Your slender attitude
    Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,
Rolling and rolling there
Where God seems not to care;
Till the fierce Love they bear
    Cramps them in death's extreme decrepitude.

Your voice sings not so soft,—
    Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,—
Your dear voice is not dear,
Gentle, and evening clear,
As theirs whom none now hear
    Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.

Heart, you were never hot,
    Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;
And though your hand be pale,
Paler are all which trail
Your cross through flame and hail:
    Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.

 
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About the poet
Wilfred Owen
 
By the same poet
Strange Meeting
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
Insensibility
Dulce et Decorum est
The Sentry
The Dead-Beat
Exposure
Spring Offensive
The Chances
S. I. W.
Futility
Smile, Smile, Smile
Conscious
A Terre
Wild with all Regrets
Disabled
The End
 
Related books
Wilfred Owen at amazon.com


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