<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536217" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Apologia Pro Poemate Meo</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I, too, saw God through mud-- <br>The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled. <br>War brought more glory to their eyes than blood, <br>And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Merry it was to laugh there-- <br>Where death becomes absurd and life absurder. <br>For power was on us as we slashed bones bare <br>Not to feel sickness or remorse of murder. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I, too, have dropped off fear-- <br>Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon, <br>And sailed my spirit surging, light and clear, <br>Past the entanglement where hopes lie strewn; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And witnessed exhultation-- <br>Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl, <br>Shine and lift up with passion of oblation, <br>Seraphic for an hour, though they were foul. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have made fellowships-- <br>Untold of happy lovers in old song. <br>For love is not the binding of fair lips <br>With the soft silk of eyes that look and long. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">By joy, whose ribbon slips,-- <br>But wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong; <br>Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips; <br>Knit in the welding of the rifle-thong. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have perceived much beauty <br>In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight; <br>Heard music in the silentness of duty; <br>Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nevertheless, except you share <br>With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell, <br>Whose world is but a trembling of a flare <br>And heaven but a highway for a shell, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You shall not hear their mirth: <br>You shall not come to think them well content <br>By any jest of mine. These men are worth <br>Your tears: You are not worth their merriment.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Wilfred+Owen">Wilfred Owen</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536217" data-title="Apologia Pro Poemate Meo de Wilfred Owen" data-description="I, too, saw God through mud-- The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled. War brought more glory to their eyes than blood, And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child. Merry it was to laugh there-- Where death becomes absurd..."></div> </div> </div>

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