Poems by Wilfred Owen
page 9 of 44 (20%)
page 9 of 44 (20%)
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We will go up and wash them from deep wells.
What though we sink from men as pitchers falling Many shall raise us up to be their filling Even from wells we sunk too deep for war And filled by brows that bled where no wounds were. *Alternative line --* Even as One who bled where no wounds were. 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 |
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