War broke: and now the Winter of the world
With perishing great darkness closes in.
The foul tornado, centred at Berlin,
Is over all the width of Europe whirled,
Rending the sails of progress. Rent or furled
Are all Art's ensigns. Verse wails. Now begin
Famines of thought and feeling. Love's wine's thin.
The grain of human Autumn rots, down-hurled.
For after Spring had bloomed in early Greece,
And Summer blazed her glory out with Rome,
An Autumn softly fell, a harvest home,
A slow grand age, and rich with all increase.
But now, for us, wild Winter, and the need
Of sowings for new Spring, and blood for seed.
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I tip my hat to Mr. Owen not only for his words, but also that he suffered the ultimate blow that his words hoped to put an end to...a sad irony.
The last line, hard not to be moved by it. -
You are an intellectual writer
Packed with imagery and metaphor. Oh, wait, so Wilfred Owen wrote this in 1915? It is raining as I read this... As if teardrops from fallen soldiers in heaven crying with each new fallen soldier walking through heaven's door to join in their weeping chorus. Looking to heaven for peace, in heavenly prayer, when instead peace remains an unchosen choice waiting to be chosen. -
good one, Mr. Owen.
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This poem was just sitting in the wings awaiting its first comment, it's been a long wait! Poem No. 122924 has been recently added, this poem being No. 11302. the wait has been worthwhile. ~~
The poem has a savagery about it but I feel the final line is the saddest of all. Owen worked hard and gave his life for his posthumous fame. -
Oh, such moving metaphor within this superbly written rhyme. "The Winter of the world with perishing great darkness closes in" is an example of how he makes even these depths dance with The Word. This poem, like his others, begs to be read aloud and given breath. This Poet's original works are kept safely inside the British Museum with important historical documents. I am heartwarmed to find he has a place with other fine poets at Oldpoetry.
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