Oh well - it was only a suggestion. ::)
;D typical!
I think this isa very good thread, i didn't intend to post another Wilfred Own but do like this:-
Futility - Wilfred Owen
Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds—
Woke once the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved, still warm, too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?
And a great one. It's a very moving poem, despite a few rather stilted and purple passages. Becomes even more powerful in the setting in Britten's War Requiem. That's a work which I have an ambivalent response to - especially the choral passages, but the settings of Owen's poems are especially forceful.
Dicky you misunderstood what Steve said, if you go back to his opening post and then read above his post where he said 'it was only a suggestion ::)', you'll get what he meant ;).
After the Bomb Mary WilsonNot a bad poet, wasn't MW. I was surprised to read of her deasth last year, having thought she'd been dead for decades. She was 102!
After the Bomb had fallen,
After the last sad cry
When the Earth was a burnt-out cinder
Drifting across the sky,
Came Lucifer, Son of the Morning,
With his fallen-angel band,
Silent and swift as a vulture
On a mountain-top to stand.
And he looked, as he stood on the mountain
With his scarlet wings unfurled,
At the charnel-house of London
And the cities of the world.
And he laughed..........
And as that mocking laughter
Across the heavens ran,
He cried 'Look!' to the fallen angels -
'This is the work of Man
Who was made in the image of God!'