New Book Available - Wilfred Owen: Cenenary

Arguably the most famous of all the First World War poets, Wilfred Edward Salter Owen was born on 18th March 1893. We got involved with researching Owen and helping with events relating to his life and works in 2012 and ended up collecting so much "stuff" together that we decided for the centenary of the publishing of his first collection of poems that we would produce a publication ourselves about the journey we took, the things we found out and the fascinating people we met on the way.


For mail order details, please follow this link:
http://www.poshupnorth.com/2020/03/wilfred-owen-centenary-featuring-brief.html

Not all of the many poems Wilfred wrote were war-themed. Here is one:

To the Bitter Sweet-Heart: A Dream

One evening Eros took me by the hand,
And having folded feathers round my head,
Or sleep like feathers, towards a far hope sped,
I groping, for he bade me understand
He would soon fill with Yours my other hand –
But when I heard his singing wings expand
My face fell deeply in his shoulder.
Sweet moons we flew thus, yet I waned not older
But in his exquisiteness I flagged, unmanned
Till, when his wings were drooping to an end
Feeling my empty hand fulfilled with His,
I knew Love gave himself my passion-friend.
So my old quest of you requited is,
Ampler than e’er I asked of your girl’s grace.
I shall not ask you more, nor see your face.

Written in France early in 1917

Wilfred Edward Salter Owen (18th March 1893 – 4th November 1918)

Source: "The Poems of Wilfred Owen" Edited by Jon Stallworthy (Chatto & Windus, London, 1990)