Conscious
Item
Title
Conscious
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Description
His fingers wake, and flutter; up the bed.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
Helped by the yellow mayflowers by his head.
The blind-cord drawls across the window-sill...
What a smooth floor the ward has! What a rug!
Who is that talking somewhere out of sight?
Three flies are creeping round the shiny jug...
'Nurse! Doctor!'---'Yes, all right, all right.'
But sudden evening blurs and fogs the air.
There seems no time to want a drink of water.
Nurse looks so far away. And here and there
Music and roses burst through crimson slaughter.
He can't remember where he saw blue sky ...
The trench is narrower. Cold, he's cold; yet hot ---
And there's no light to see the voices by ...
There is no time to ask ... he knows not what.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
Helped by the yellow mayflowers by his head.
The blind-cord drawls across the window-sill...
What a smooth floor the ward has! What a rug!
Who is that talking somewhere out of sight?
Three flies are creeping round the shiny jug...
'Nurse! Doctor!'---'Yes, all right, all right.'
But sudden evening blurs and fogs the air.
There seems no time to want a drink of water.
Nurse looks so far away. And here and there
Music and roses burst through crimson slaughter.
He can't remember where he saw blue sky ...
The trench is narrower. Cold, he's cold; yet hot ---
And there's no light to see the voices by ...
There is no time to ask ... he knows not what.
Identifier
3309.txt
Creator
Owen, Wilfred (1893-1918)
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Date
1983
Date Created
1983-01-01
Temporal Coverage
1983-12-31
Type
Poem
Publisher
The First World War Poetry Digital Archive
