Futility
Move him into the sun-- Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unsown. Always it woke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow. If anything might rouse him now The kind old sun will know. Think how it wakes the seeds-- Woke, once, the clays of a cold star. Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides Full-nerved,--still warm,--too hard to stir? Was it for this the clay grew tall? --O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all?
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"Move him into the sun--..."
Wilfred Edward Salter Owen's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "Futility"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...