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Poetry of Direct Personal Experience
Our Collection of Aviation and Military Poetry

Anthem For Doomed Youth
Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? 

Only the monstrous anger of the guns. 

Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle 

Can patter out their hasty orisons. 

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; 

Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, 

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; 

And bugles calling for them from sad shires. 

What candles may be held to speed them all? 

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes 

Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes. 

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; 

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, 

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds. 


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At the going down of the sun, and in the morning we will remember them. - Laurence Binyon
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 • Last Modified: 19 June 2015, 14:32