Wilfred Owen
“Was it for this the clay grew tall?”
“Men marched asleep.”
“Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead.”
“I am the enemy you killed, my friend.”
“The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.”
“What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?”
“All a poet can do today is warn.”
“My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.”