The roads also.
By Wilfred Owen.
Most of Owen's poems are about war, specifically the Great War
in which he was killed. But there are others of his, like this fragment, that show the much
gentler kind of poet he might of become had he survived.
He uses here, as in many of his poems, a kind of reverse - rhyme
in which the consonants remain the same but the vowel is changed.
The roads also have their wistful rest,
when the weathercocks perch still and roost,
and the town is a candle-lit room
the streets also dream their dream.
The old houses muse of the old days
and their fond trees leaning on them doze,
on their steps chatter and clatter stops,
on their doors a strange hand taps.
Men remember alien ardours
as the dusk unearths old mournful odours.
In the garden unborn child souls wail
and the dead scribble on walls.
Though their own child cry for them in tears,
women weep but hear no sound upstairs.
They believe in loves that had not lived
and in passion past the reach of the stairs
to the world's towers or stars.