Supposing I underwent the rigours, boredom, disgust, danger of Barracks or Camp, or saw Action on the Field, I might have better claim to a Subsidy from my Rich Uncle, which Common Sense, Common Decency, Common Charity are not quite common enough to realize. I say, it is a matter of Common Sense.
Consider; I ask not for a Defence from Life-Troubles or an Excuse for not labouring, but I ask for a Weapon. I will fight through Life; (have I not fought?) but no headway is to be made without an Arm, whether the Sword that is called Science, or the Munition, Capital. To struggle vulgarly with fist and brick-end, I do refuse. I had rather fall back among the Camp Followers of Life and mend potsherds. My present life, as Father points out, is not leading to anywhere in particular; but situated where I was in 1911, I don't think I could have done wiselier than take the steps I did. . .
Wilfred Owen March, 1915I saw his Round Mouth's Crimson
I saw his round mouth's crimson deepen as it fell,
Like a Sun, in his last deep hour;
Watched the magnificent recession of farewell,
Clouding, half gleam, half glower,
And a last splendour burn the heavens of his cheek.
And in his eyes
The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak,
In different skies.
Wilfred Owen's War Poems online
