I know The Music unfinished
All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:
Bugles that sadden all the evening air,
And country bells clamouring their last
Before [the] music of the evening prayer;
Bridges, sonorous under carriage wheels.
Gurgle of sluicing surge through hollow rocks,
The gluttonous lapping of the waves on weeds,
Whisper of grass; the myriad-tinkling flocks,
The warbling drawl of flutes and shepherds' reeds.
The orchestral noises of October
Blowing ( ) symphonetic
Of startled clarions ( )Drums, rumbling and rolling thunderous and ( ).
Thrilling of throstles in the keen blue dawn,
Bees fumbling and fuming over sainfoin-fields.
Wilfred Owen
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The End
After the blast of lightning from the east, The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot throne, After the drums of time have rolled and And from the bronze west long retreat is blown,
Asleep
Under his helmet, up against his pack, After so many days of work and waking, Sleep took him by the brow and laid him back There, in the happy no-time of his sleeping,
Soldiers Dream
I dreamed kind Jesus fouled the big-gun gears; And caused a permanent stoppage in all bolts; And buckled with a smile Mausers and Colts; And rusted every bayonet with His tears
War broke and now the Winter of the world
War broke: and now the Winter of the With perishing great darkness closes in The foul tornado, centred at Berlin, Is over all the width of Europe whirled,