11/11

[altariel]

For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had 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.

From Strange Meeting by Wilfred Owen

And do read the poems posted by the_wild_iris.

Comments

[aesc.livejournal.com]

Owen is one of my most favorite poets ever; I can remember reading his "Dulce et Decorum Est" as a high school student and being overcome by it.

[altariel.livejournal.com]

"If in some smothering dreams you too could pace..."

There is a very good online archive, with links to images of the manuscripts.