Anthem for Doomed Youth
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
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 for them from prayers or 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 silent maids,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Hope
Spike Milligan (1918–2002)
Just when I had made my today
Secure with safe yesterdays
I see tomorrow coming with its pale
glass star called hope.
It shatters on impact
And falls like splinters of cruel rain
And I see the red oil of life
running from my wrists
onto tomorrow's headlines.
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