""Strange friend," I said, "Here is no cause to mourn." "None," said the other, "Save the undone years, The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours, Was my life also; I went hunting wild After the wildest beauty in the world, Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair, But mocks the steady running of the hour, And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here. For by my glee might many men have laughed, And of my weeping something has been left, Which must die now. I mean the truth untold, The pity of war, the pity war distilled. Now men will go content with what we spoiled. Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled. They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress, None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress. Courage was mine, and I had mystery; Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery; To miss the march of this retreating world Into vain citadels that are not walled."
Quote Details
Added by wikiquote-import-bot
Unverified quote
0 likes
Original Language: English
Available Languages (1)
Sources
Imported from EN Wikiquote
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Wilfred_Owen
Revision History
No revisions have been submitted for this quote.
Categories
Wilfred Owen
Wilfred Edward Salter Owen (18 March 1893 – 4 November 1918) was a British poet and soldier. Regarded by many as the leading poet of the First World War, he was killed 7 days before it ended.
15 quotes on TrueQuotesView all quotes by Wilfred Owen →
Related Quotes
"And when I hearken to the Earth, she saith: 'My fiery heart shrinks, aching. It is death. Mine ancient scars shall no…"
"This book is not about heroes. English poetry is not yet fit to speak of them. Nor is it about deeds, or lands, nor a…"
"Oh, Death was never enemy of ours! We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum. No soldier's paid to kick agains…"
"Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes Passed from him to the strong men that were whole."
"Bent double like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haun…"
"Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod."
"Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone still was yelli…"
"If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writh…"
"He dropped, — more sullenly than wearily, Lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat, And none of us could kick him to hi…"
"We sent him down at last, out of the way. Unwounded; — stout lad, too, before that strafe. Malingering? Stretcher-bea…"