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Wilfred Owen (Уилфред Оуэн)


Futility


Move him into the sun--
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it awoke 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? 



Wilfred Owen's other poems:
  1. The Chances
  2. A Palinode
  3. Has Your Soul Sipped?
  4. Music
  5. Le Christianisme


Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

  • Robert Service (Роберт Сервис) Futility ("Dusting my books I spent a busy day")
  • Claude McKay (Клод Маккей) Futility ("Oh, I have tried to laugh the pain away")

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