First World War Poetry Digital Archive

On My Songs

ON MY SONGS by WILFRED OWEN Though unseen Poets, many and many a time, Have answered me as if they knew my woe, And it might seem have fashioned so their rime To be my own soul's cry; easing the flow Of my dumb tears with language sweet as sobs, Yet are there days when all these hoards of thought Hold nothing for me. Not one verse that throbs Throbs with my heart, or as my brain is fraught. 'Tis then I voice mine own weird reveries: Low croonings of a motherless child, in gloom Singing his frightened self to sleep, are these. One night, if thou shouldst lie in this Sick Room, Dreading the Dark thou darest not illume, Listen; my voice may haply lend thee ease.


“On My Songs,” by Owen, Wilfred (1893-1918). The Estate of Wilfred Owen. The Complete Poems and Fragments of Wilfred Owen edited by Jon Stallworthy first published by Chatto & Windus, 1983. Preliminaries, introductory, editorial matter, manuscripts and fragments omitted. via First World War Poetry Digital Archive, accessed July 6, 2022,

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