Inspection
Item
Title
Inspection
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Description
'You! What d'you mean by this?' I rapped.
'You dare come on parade like this?'
'Please, sir, it's ---' ''Old yer mouth,' the sergeant snapped.
'I takes 'is name, sir?'---'Please, and then dismiss.'
Some days 'confined to camp' he got,
For being 'dirty on parade'.
He told me, afterwards, the damnèd spot
Was blood, his own. 'Well, blood is dirt,' I said.
'Blood's dirt,' he laughed, looking away,
Far off to where his wound had bled
And almost merged for ever into clay.
'The world is washing out its stains,' he said.
'It doesn't like our cheeks so red:
Young blood's its great objection.
But when we're duly white-washed, being dead,
The race will bear Field Marshal God's inspection.'
'You dare come on parade like this?'
'Please, sir, it's ---' ''Old yer mouth,' the sergeant snapped.
'I takes 'is name, sir?'---'Please, and then dismiss.'
Some days 'confined to camp' he got,
For being 'dirty on parade'.
He told me, afterwards, the damnèd spot
Was blood, his own. 'Well, blood is dirt,' I said.
'Blood's dirt,' he laughed, looking away,
Far off to where his wound had bled
And almost merged for ever into clay.
'The world is washing out its stains,' he said.
'It doesn't like our cheeks so red:
Young blood's its great objection.
But when we're duly white-washed, being dead,
The race will bear Field Marshal God's inspection.'
Identifier
3326.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
