Winter Song The browns, the olives, and the yellows died, And were swept up to heaven; where they … - Wilfred Owen

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The only way, I think, to learn to write short stories is to write them, and then try to discover what you have done.

Wilfred Owen

Winter Song The browns, the olives, and the yellows died, And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide, And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed, Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed. From off your face, into the winds of winter, The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing; But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter, When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing, And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.

Beauty, Dawn, Spiritual, Summer, Sun, Yellows

Same Author Quotes

I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity. Yet these elegies are to this generation in no sense conciliatory. They may be to the next. All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true Poets must be truthful.

Conciliatory, Elegies, Generations, Poet, This Generation, War

Ambition may be defined as the willingness to receive any number of hits on the nose.

Ambition, Defined, Funny, Number, Numbers

The old Lie:Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

Est, Latin, Lying, Mori, Pro, War

Above all I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.

Concerned, Pity, Poetry, Poetry Is, War

Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead.

Dead, Lips, Red, Stones