Source D


From “Apologia Pro Poemate Meo” (translation:  “A defense of my poem”)

By Wilfred Owen


I have perceived much beauty

In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;

Heard music in the silentness of duty;

Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.


Nevertheless, except you share

With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,

Whose world is but the trembling of a flare,

And heaven but as the highway for a shell,


You shall not hear their mirth:

You shall not come to think them well content

By any jest of mine.  These men are worth

Your tears:  You are not worth their merriment.



November 1917.


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