If you are without Adobe flash, this animation is missing.

Exposure by Wilfred Owen

 
POETS
Wilfred Owen
John McCrae
Isaac Rosenberg
Siegfried Sassoon
Rupert Brooke
Charles Sorley
Alan Seeger
William Hodgson
Herbert Read
Edward Thomas
 
POSTERS
British War Posters
American Posters
German Posters
Australian Posters
Italian Posters
French Posters
 
PHOTOGRAPHS
British War Photos
American Photos
German Photos
French Photos
 
WAR ARTISTS
War Artists
 
LINKS
War Links
 
WALLPAPER
War Desktop
 
ABOUT
About/Contact
 
SITEMAP
Website Contents

[Alan Seeger] [Charles Hamilton Sorley] [Edward Thomas] [Herbert Read] [Isaac Rosenberg] [John McCrae]
[Rupert Brooke] [Siegfried Sassoon] [Wilfred Owen] [William Noel Hodgson]

Search Poems: Optional Keyword:
print war poemView Print Version
del.ic.ous, world war picturesdiggtechnoratifacebookredditstumbleupontwitter

Exposure

By Wilfred Owen

I

Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us . . .
Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent . . .
Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . . .
Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous,
But nothing happens.

Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire.
Like twitching agonies of men among its brambles.
Northward incessantly, the flickering gunnery rumbles,
Far off, like a dull rumour of some other war.
What are we doing here?

The poignant misery of dawn begins to grow . . .
We only know war lasts, rain soaks, and clouds sag stormy.
Dawn massing in the east her melancholy army
Attacks once more in ranks on shivering ranks of gray,
But nothing happens.

Sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence.
Less deadly than the air that shudders black with snow,
With sidelong flowing flakes that flock, pause and renew,
We watch them wandering up and down the wind's nonchalance,
But nothing happens.

II

Pale flakes with lingering stealth come feeling for our faces --
We cringe in holes, back on forgotten dreams, and stare, snow-dazed,
Deep into grassier ditches. So we drowse, sun-dozed,
Littered with blossoms trickling where the blackbird fusses.
Is it that we are dying?

Slowly our ghosts drag home: glimpsing the sunk fires glozed
With crusted dark-red jewels; crickets jingle there;
For hours the innocent mice rejoice: the house is theirs;
Shutters and doors all closed: on us the doors are closed --
We turn back to our dying.

Since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn;
Now ever suns smile true on child, or field, or fruit.
For God's invincible spring our love is made afraid;
Therefore, not loath, we lie out here; therefore were born,
For love of God seems dying.

To-night, His frost will fasten on this mud and us,
Shrivelling many hands and puckering foreheads crisp.
The burying-party, picks and shovels in their shaking grasp,
Pause over half-known faces. All their eyes are ice,
But nothing happens.



world war poets, wilfed owen, john mcrae...
Search Poems: Optional Keyword:
 

 

SOCIAL BOOKMARKS
del.ic.ous, world war picturesDel.ic.ous diggDigg technoratiTechnorati facebookFacebook redditReddit twitterTwitter stumbleuponStumble Upon


[Home] [World War I Posters] [World War Artists] [War Photos] [War Poets]
[WWII Desktop] [World War Links] [Sitemap]



National Loan, war poster, photo, wwi, wwii
National Loan


50,000 Men, war poster, photo, wwi, wwii
50,000 Men


Irishmen, war poster, photo, wwi, wwii
Irishmen


U.S. Marine Corps, war poster, photo, wwi, wwii
U.S. Marine Corps


Trained?, war poster, photo, wwi, wwii
Trained?


Mighty YB-17 Bomber, war poster, photo, wwi, wwii
Mighty YB-17 Bomber


Love Story, war poster, photo, wwi, wwii
Love Story