<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h1> POEMS </h1>
<p><br/></p>
<h2> by Wilfred Owen </h2>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<h3> With an Introduction by Siegfried Sassoon </h3>
<p><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"></SPAN></p>
<h2> Introduction </h2>
<p>In writing an Introduction such as this it is good to be brief. The poems
printed in this book need no preliminary commendations from me or anyone
else. The author has left us his own fragmentary but impressive Foreword;
this, and his Poems, can speak for him, backed by the authority of his
experience as an infantry soldier, and sustained by nobility and
originality of style. All that was strongest in Wilfred Owen survives in
his poems; any superficial impressions of his personality, any records of
his conversation, behaviour, or appearance, would be irrelevant and
unseemly. The curiosity which demands such morsels would be incapable of
appreciating the richness of his work.</p>
<p>The discussion of his experiments in assonance and dissonance (of which
'Strange Meeting' is the finest example) may be left to the professional
critics of verse, the majority of whom will be more preoccupied with such
technical details than with the profound humanity of the self- revelation
manifested in such magnificent lines as those at the end of his 'Apologia
pro Poemate Meo', and in that other poem which he named 'Greater Love'.</p>
<p>The importance of his contribution to the literature of the War cannot be
decided by those who, like myself, both admired him as a poet and valued
him as a friend. His conclusions about War are so entirely in accordance
with my own that I cannot attempt to judge his work with any critical
detachment. I can only affirm that he was a man of absolute integrity of
mind. He never wrote his poems (as so many war-poets did) to make the
effect of a personal gesture. He pitied others; he did not pity himself.
In the last year of his life he attained a clear vision of what he needed
to say, and these poems survive him as his true and splendid testament.</p>
<p>Wilfred Owen was born at Oswestry on 18th March 1893. He was educated at
the Birkenhead Institute, and matriculated at London University in 1910.
In 1913 he obtained a private tutorship near Bordeaux, where he remained
until 1915. During this period he became acquainted with the eminent
French poet, Laurent Tailhade, to whom he showed his early verses, and
from whom he received considerable encouragement. In 1915, in spite of
delicate health, he joined the Artists' Rifles O.T.C., was gazetted to the
Manchester Regiment, and served with their 2nd Battalion in France from
December 1916 to June 1917, when he was invalided home. Fourteen months
later he returned to the Western Front and served with the same Battalion,
ultimately commanding a Company.</p>
<p>He was awarded the Military Cross for gallantry while taking part in some
heavy fighting on 1st October. He was killed on 4th November 1918, while
endeavouring to get his men across the Sambre Canal.</p>
<p>A month before his death he wrote to his mother: "My nerves are in perfect
order. I came out again in order to help these boys; directly, by leading
them as well as an officer can; indirectly, by watching their sufferings
that I may speak of them as well as a pleader can." Let his own words be
his epitaph:—</p>
<p>"Courage was mine, and I had mystery;<br/>
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery."<br/>
<br/>
Siegfried Sassoon.<br/></p>
<p><br/></p>
<hr />
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<h2> POEMS </h2>
<p><SPAN name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"></SPAN></p>
<h2> Preface </h2>
<p>This book is not about heroes. English Poetry is not yet fit to speak of
them. Nor is it about deeds or lands, nor anything about glory, honour,
dominion or power,</p>
<p>except War.<br/>
Above all, this book is not concerned with Poetry.<br/>
The subject of it is War, and the pity of War.<br/>
The Poetry is in the pity.<br/>
Yet these elegies are not to this generation,<br/>
This is in no sense consolatory.<br/>
<br/>
They may be to the next.<br/>
All the poet can do to-day is to warn.<br/>
That is why the true Poets must be truthful.<br/>
If I thought the letter of this book would last,<br/>
I might have used proper names; but if the spirit of it survives<br/>
Prussia,—my ambition and those names will be content; for they will<br/>
have achieved themselves fresher fields than Flanders.<br/></p>
<p>Note.—This Preface was found, in an unfinished condition,<br/>
among Wilfred Owen's papers.<br/></p>
<p><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><br/></p>
<blockquote>
<p><big><b>CONTENTS</b></big></p>
<p><br/></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_INTR"> Introduction </SPAN></p>
<p><br/></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0003"> <big><b>POEMS</b></big> </SPAN></p>
<p><br/></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_PREF"> Preface </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0005"> Strange Meeting </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0006"> Greater Love </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0007"> Apologia pro Poemate Meo </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0008"> The Show </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0009"> Mental Cases </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0010"> Parable of the Old Men and the Young </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0011"> Arms and the Boy </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0012"> Anthem for Doomed Youth </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0013"> The Send-off </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0014"> Insensibility </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0015"> Dulce et Decorum est </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0016"> The Sentry </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0017"> The Dead-Beat </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0018"> Exposure </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0019"> Spring Offensive </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0020"> The Chances </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0021"> S. I. W. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0022"> Futility </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0023"> Smile, Smile, Smile </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0024"> Conscious </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0025"> A Terre </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0026"> Wild with all Regrets </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0027"> Disabled </SPAN></p>
<p><br/></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_APPE"> Appendix </SPAN></p>
</blockquote>
<p><br/></p>
<hr />
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