THE END
After the blast of lightning from the east,
The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot throne;
After the drums of time have rolled and ceased,
And, from the bronze west, long retreat is blown—
Shall Life renew these bodies? Of a truth
All death will he annul, all tears assuage?—
Or fill these void veins full again with youth,
And wash, with an immortal water, Age?
When I do ask white Age, he saith, "Not so:
My head hangs weighed with snow."
And when I hearken to the Earth, she saith:
"My fiery heart sinks aching. It is death.
Mine ancient scars shall not be glorified.
Nor my titanic tears, the seas, be dried."
Wilfred Owen
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