A detailed biographical sketch of Wilfred Owen's life, including analysis of his work. ![]() All went lame all blind ħDrunk with fatigue deaf even to the hootsĩGas! GAS! Quick, boys!-An ecstasy of fumblingġ0Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,ġ1But someone still was yelling out and stumblingġ2And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.-ġ3Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,ġ4As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.ġ5In all my dreams before my helpless sight,ġ6He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.ġ7If in some smothering dreams, you too could paceġ9And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,Ģ0His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin Ģ1If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodĢ2Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,Ģ4Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-Ģ5My friend, you would not tell with such high zestĢ6To children ardent for some desperate glory, Many had lost their boots,ĦBut limped on, blood-shod. ![]() ![]() 1Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,ĢKnock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,ģTill on the haunting flares we turned our backs,ĤAnd towards our distant rest began to trudge.ĥMen marched asleep.
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