Win­ter Song Po­etry

This England - - Contents - Wil­fred Owen

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 again with spir­i­tual glin­ter, When paler beauty on your brows falls snow­ing, And through those snows my looks shall be soft-go­ing.

From “The Po­ems of Wil­fred Owen” (Chatto & Win­dus, 1990), edited by Jon Stall­wor­thy.

Look­ing across to­wards the vil­lage of Enville, South Stafford­shire.

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