First World War Poetry Digital Archive


SONNET by WILFRED OWEN Written at Teignmouth, on a Pilgrimage to Keats's House

Three colours have I known the Deep to wear;
'Tis well today that Purple grandeurs gloom, Veiling the Emerald sheen and Sky-blue glare. Well, too, that lowly-brooding clouds now loom
In sable majesty around, fringed fair
With ermine-white of surf: to me they bear Watery memorials of His mystic doom
Whose Name was writ in Water (saith his tomb).

Eternally may sad waves wail his death, Choke in their grief 'mongst rocks where he has lain, Or heave in silence, yearning with hushed breath, While mournfully trail the slow-moved mists and rain, And softly the small drops slide from weeping trees, Quivering in anguish to the sobbing breeze.

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