Strange
Meeting |
| by
Wilfred Owen |
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| It
seemed that out of battle I escaped |
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| Down
some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped |
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| Through
granites which titanic wars had groined. |
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| Yet
also there encumbered sleepers groaned, |
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| Too
fast in thought or death to be bestirred. |
5 |
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Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared |
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| With
piteous recognition in fixed eyes, |
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| Lifting
distressful hands, as if to bless. |
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| And
by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, — |
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| By his dead
smile I knew we stood in Hell. |
10 |
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| With
a thousand pains that vision’s face was grained; |
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| Yet
no blood reached there from the upper ground, |
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| And
no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan. |
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| ‘Strange
friend,’ I said, ‘here is no cause to mourn.’ |
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| ‘None,’
said that other, ‘save the undone years, |
15 |
| The
hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours, |
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| Was
my life also; I went hunting wild |
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| After
the wildest beauty in the world, |
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| Which
lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair, |
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| But
mocks the steady running of the hour, |
20 |
| And
if it grieves, grieves richlier than here. |
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| For
by my glee might many men have laughed, |
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| And
of my weeping something had been left, |
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| Which
must die now. I mean the truth untold, |
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| The
pity of war, the pity war distilled. |
25 |
| Now
men will go content with what we spoiled, |
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| Or,
discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled. |
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| They
will be swift with swiftness of the tigress. |
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| None
will break ranks, though nations trek from progress. |
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| Courage
was mine, and I had mystery, |
30 |
| Wisdom
was mine, and I had mastery: |
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To miss the march of this retreating world |
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| Into
vain citadels that are not walled. |
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| Then,
when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels, |
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| I
would go up and wash them from sweet wells |
35 |
| Even
with truths that lie too deep for taint. |
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| I
would have poured my spirit without stint |
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| But
not through wounds; not on the cess of war. |
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| Foreheads
of men have bled where no wounds were. |
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| ‘I
am the enemy you killed, my friend. |
40 |
| I
knew you in this dark: for so you frowned |
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Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed. |
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| I
parried; but my hands were loath and cold. |
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| Let
us sleep now . . .’ |
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