Wilfred Owen

Mar 18, 1893 - Nov 4, 1918

 

Strange Meeting

by Wilfred Owen

It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which Titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall;
With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
Strange, friend, I said, Here is no cause to mourn.
None, said the other, Save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something has been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now ...

(This poem was found among the author's papers. It ends on this strange note.)

Another Version

Earth's wheels run oiled with blood. Forget we that.
Let us lie down and dig ourselves in thought.
Beauty is yours and you have mastery,
Wisdom is mine, and I have mystery.
We two will stay behind and keep our troth.
Let us forego men's minds that are brute's natures,
Let us not sup the blood which some say nurtures,
Be we not swift with swiftness of the tigress.
Let us break ranks from those who trek from progress.
Miss we the march of this retreating world
Into old citadels that are not walled.
Let us lie out and hold the open truth.
Then when their blood hath clogged the chariot wheels
We will go up and wash them from deep wells.
What though we sink from men as pitchers falling
Many shall raise us up to be their filling
Even from wells we sunk too deep for war
And filled by brows that bled where no wounds were.

Alternative line:

Even as One who bled where no wounds were.

Source:

Poems
Copyright 1921
Chatto and Windus, London
 

Recommended Works

Wedded Love - James NackWoman - Ella Wheeler WilcoxEndymion - Henry Wadsworth LongfellowRain And Wind - Madison Julius CaweinEpitaph On Holy Willie - Robert BurnsThe Mother's Pride - James NackAchievements - Ella Wheeler WilcoxTo Autumn - John KeatsRemember The Alamo - Rose Hartwick ThorpeThe Rose - James Whitcomb RileyLost At Sea - Thomas Bailey AldrichTis Sweet To Think - Thomas MooreThe Bells - Edgar Allan PoeWe Are Seven - William WordsworthDaily Trials - Oliver Wendell HolmesStrange Meeting - Wilfred OwenFalse Poets And True - Thomas HoodAvenging and Bright Fell The Swift Sword Of Erin - Thomas MooreO Lay Thy Hand In Mine, Dear! - Gerald MasseyThe Salt Sea-Wind - Ella Wheeler WilcoxThe Iron Pen - Henry Wadsworth LongfellowWas, Is, And Yet-To-Be - Ella Wheeler WilcoxThe Family - Bayard TaylorMistakes - Ella Wheeler WilcoxThou Art, O God - Thomas MooreTo A Blank Sheet Of Paper - Oliver Wendell HolmesThe Bells of Lynn - Henry Wadsworth LongfellowSpoken - Helen Hunt JacksonThe Husband Speaks - Elizabeth StoddardThe Soul's Expression - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningMomus, God Of Laughter - Ella Wheeler WilcoxCold And Quiet - Jean IngelowThe Rock-A-By Lady - Eugene FieldEndure - Achsa White SpragueWhat Love Is - Ella Wheeler WilcoxThe Favorite Flower - Celia ThaxterWhat We Need - Ella Wheeler WilcoxFishing - Ella Wheeler WilcoxThe House Of Clouds - Elizabeth Barrett BrowningThe Flowers In The Cemetery - Hannah Flagg GouldIn Flanders Fields - John McCraeSand Of The Desert In An Hour-Glass - Henry Wadsworth LongfellowConstancy - Ella Wheeler WilcoxThe Wife Speaks - Elizabeth StoddardContentment - Oliver Wendell HolmesThe Old Clock On The Stairs - Henry Wadsworth LongfellowThe Sandpiper - Celia ThaxterLove's Extravagance - Ella Wheeler WilcoxMadeline - Henry TimrodThe Beautiful Land Of Nod - Ella Wheeler Wilcox