Children are not meant to be studied, but enjoyed. Only by studying to be pleased do we understand them.
Wilfred OwenIf in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie:
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping may something have been left,
Which must die now.
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.
The old Lie:Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Tag: lies patriotism war violence
All a poet can do today is warn.
Wilfred OwenBut the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.
Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.
Wilfred OwenAs bronze may be much beautified by lying in the dark damp soil, so men who fade in dust of warfare fade fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.
Wilfred OwenTag: soul sorrow darkness warfare death-and-dying bronze
My arms have mutinied against me — brutes!
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats,
My back's been stiff for hours, damned hours.
Death never gives his squad a Stand-at-ease.
Pagina 1 di 4.
prossimo ultimo »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.