First World War Poetry Digital Archive

Nocturne

NOCTURNE by WILFRED OWEN

Now, as the warm approach of honied slumber blurs my sense, Before I yield me to th'enchantment of my bed, God rest all souls in toil and turbulence, All men a-weary seeking bread; God rest them all tonight! Let sleep expunge The day's monotonous vistas from their sight; And let them plunge Deep down the dusky firmament of reverie And drowse of dreams with me.

Ah! I should drowse away the night most peacefully But that there toil too many bodies unreposed Who fain would fall on lethargy; Too many leaden eyes unclosed; And aching hands amove Interminably, Beneath the light that night will not remove; Too many brains that rave in dust and steam! They rave, but cannot dream!

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