| Anthem
for Doomed Youth |
| by
Wilfred Owen |
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| What
passing-bells for these who die as cattle? |
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| —
Only the monstrous anger of the guns. |
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| Only
the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle |
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Can patter out their hasty orisons. |
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| No
mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; |
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| Nor
any voice of mourning save the choirs, — |
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| The
shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; |
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| And
bugles calling for them from sad shires. |
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| What
candles may be held to speed them all? |
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| Not
in the hands of boys but in their eyes |
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| Shall
shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes. |
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| The
pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall; |
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| Their
flowers the tenderness of patient minds, |
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| And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds. |
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