Explore "Poems: Greater Love" by Wilfred Owen on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Red lips are not so red / As the stained stones kissed by the English dead. / Kindness of wooed and wooer / Seems shame to their love pure. / O Love, your eyes lose lure / When I behold eyes blinded in my stead!
Your slender attitude / Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed, / Rolling and rolling there / Where God seems not to care; / Till the fierce Love they bear / Cramps them in death's extreme decrepitude.
Your voice sings not so soft, -- / Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft, -- / Your dear voice is not dear, / Gentle, and evening clear, / As theirs whom none now hear / Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.
Heart, you were never hot, / Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot; / And though your hand be pale, / Paler are all which trail / Your cross through flame and hail: / Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.