Ghizela Rowe
anthem for doomed youth wildred owen
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What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
â Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the s,â
The shrill, demented s of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
- Album:
- Halloween Poems - Volume 1
- The Novelist as Poet
- Westminster Memorials - Volume 3
- The Georgian Poets
- Victorian Poetry - Volume 1
- The Four Seasons - The Poetry
- Kensal Green - The London Cemetery
- The Poetry of John Keats
- The Poetry of William Blake
- The Poetry of Percy Bysshe Shelley
- The Romantics - Volume 1
- The Elizabethan Poets