First World War Poetry Digital Archive

Training

TRAINING by WILFRED OWEN

Not this week nor this month dare I lie down In languor under lime trees or smooth smile. Love must not kiss my face pale that is brown.

My lips, panting, shall drink space, mile by mile; Strong meats by all my hunger; my renown Be the clean beauty of speed and pride of style.

Cold winds encountered on the racing Down Shall thrill my heated bareness; but awhile None else may meet me till I wear my crown.

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