·
2 мин
Слушать

The Send-Off

Down the close, darkening lanes they sang their

To the siding-shed,

And lined the train with faces grimly gay.

Their breasts were stuck all white with wreath and

As men's are, dead.

Dull porters watched them, and a casual

Stood staring hard,

Sorry to miss them from the upland camp.

Then, unmoved, signals nodded, and a

Winked to the guard.

So secretly, like wrongs hushed-up, they went.

They were not ours:

We never heard to which front these were sent.

Nor there if they yet mock what women

Who gave them flowers.

Shall they return to beatings of great

In wild trainloads?

A few, a few, too few for drums and yells,

May creep back, silent, to still village

Up half-known roads.

This was written whilst Owen was at a holding camp at Ripon,

Yorkshire between being discharged from Craiglockhart Hospital and returning to the fighting in France.

0
0
25
Подарок

Wilfred Owen

Wilfred Edward Salter Owen, MC (18 March 1893 – 4 November 1918) was an English poet and soldier. He was one of the leading poets of the First W…
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Сегодня читают
Ryfma
Ryfma - это социальная сеть для публикации книг, стихов и прозы, для общения писателей и читателей. Публикуй стихи и прозу бесплатно.