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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Budging the sluggard ripples of the Somme, A barge round old Cérisy slowly slewed Softly her engines down the current screwed, And chuckled softly with contented hum,
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[I saw his round mouth's crimson deepen as it fell], Like a Sun, in his last deep hour; Watched the magnificent recession of farewell, Clouding, half gleam, half glower,
Le Christianisme
So the church Christ was hit and Under its rubbish and its rubble In cellars, packed-up saints long serried, Well out of hearing of our trouble