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Wilfred Owen (zie mijn blog van 26 april) blijft een van mijn lievelingsdichters uit de Grote Oorlog. Vandaag breng ik u zijn 'Anthem for doomed Youth'
What passing-bells for those 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 might 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 minds, / And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.'
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