Wilfred Owen

[Home] [Posters] [Artists] [Photos] [Poets] [Merchandise] [Desktop] [Links] [Sitemap]

POSTERS
British Posters
American Posters
German Posters
Australian Posters
Italian Posters
French Posters
 
PHOTOGRAPHS
British Photos
American Photos
German Photos
French Photos
 
WAR POETS/POEMS
War Poets
 
WAR ARTISTS
War Artists
 
MERCHANDISE
Book/Merchandise
 
LINKS
Links
 
WALLPAPER
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]

Wilfred Edward Salter Owen, MC (1893 – 1918)

Insensibility poem by wilfred owen

Insensibility

I

Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers,
But they are troops who fade, not flowers
For poets' tearful fooling:
Men, gaps for filling
Losses who might have fought
Longer; but no one bothers.


II

And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on Armies' decimation.


III

Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.
Their spirit drags no pack.
Their old wounds save with cold can not more ache.
Having seen all things red,
Their eyes are rid
Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
And terror's first constriction over,
Their hearts remain small drawn.
Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
Now long since ironed,
Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.


IV

Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
And many sighs are drained.
Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
His days are worth forgetting more than not.
He sings along the march
Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
The long, forlorn, relentless trend
From larger day to huger night.


V

We wise, who with a thought besmirch
Blood over all our soul,
How should we see our task
But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
Dying, not mortal overmuch;
Nor sad, nor proud,
Nor curious at all.
He cannot tell
Old men's placidity from his.


VI

But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever mourns in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears.


 
Insensibility poem by wilfred owen UK Buyers

Purchase the Book

Wilfred Owen: The Truth Untold (Paperback)
by Dominic Hibberd (Author)

Paperback: 608 pages
Publisher: Orion (November 4, 2003)
ISBN-10: 0753817098
ISBN-13: 978-0753817094
Product Dimensions: 7.7 x 5 x 1.4 inches

Insensibility poem by wilfred owen US Buyers
 

Other War Poets

john mcrae war poet
 
wilfred owen, anthem for doomed youth
 
edward thomas, great war, poems
 
herbert read, british war poet
 
isaac rosenberg, war poems
william noel hodgson, wwi poetry
 
siegfried sassoon, wwii poetry
 
rupert brooke, war poems
 
alan seeger, world-war
 
charles sorley, world war, poetry, poems, poet, posters

 
women of britain say go, wwi
 
german war posters
 
british world war i poster, london opinion
 
british war poster, rally round the flag
 
women of britain say go, wwi
 
uncle sam, wartime recruitment poster
 
irishmen, avenge the Lusitania, world war i poster
 
winston churchill, war time prime minister