From My Diary July 1914
Leaves Murmuring by miriads in the shimmering trees.
Lives Wakening with wonder in the Pyrenees.
Birds Cheerily chirping in the early day.
Bards Singing of summer, scything thro' the hay.
Bees Shaking the heavy dews from bloom and frond.
Boys Bursting the surface of the ebony pond.
Flashes Of swimmers carving thro' the sparkling cold.
Fleshes Gleaming with wetness to the morning gold.
A mead Bordered about with warbling water brooks.
A maid Laughing the love-laugh with me; proud of looks.
The heat Throbbing between the upland and the peak.
Her heart Quivering with passion to my pressed cheek.
Braiding Of floating flames across the mountain brow.
Brooding Of stillness; and a sighing of the bough.
Stirs Of leaflets in the gloom; soft petal-showers;
Stars Expanding with the starr'd nocturnal flowers.
Wilfred Owen
Другие работы автора
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:
O World Of Many Worlds
O World of many worlds, O life of lives, What centre hast thou Where am I O whither is it thy fierce onrush drives
The Young Soldier
It is not Without To one in Of life and its laughter,
The Wrestlers
So neck to neck and obstinate knee to Wrestled those two; and peerless Could not prevail nor catch at any vantage; But those huge hands which small had strangled
