Anthem for Doomed Youth



What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
       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 choirs,—
 The shrill, demented choirs 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 good-byes.
       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.

Source: The Complete Poems and Fragments of Wilfred Owen (1984)


Ein Gedanke zu “Anthem for Doomed Youth

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