Lines Written On My Nineteenth Birthday
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Title
Lines Written On My Nineteenth Birthday
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Description
(March 18, 1912)
Two Spirits woke me from my sleep this morn;
Both most unwelcome were; for they have torn
Away from me the shady screens of ease
And unreflecting, unself-scanning Peace
Wherein I used to hide me from annoy
In years which found and left me still a Boy.
The First rose solemn, with a Voice of stern
Monition; and it said: 'Look back! and learn
To number life by moments, not by years;
Know that thy youth to its completion nears.
This night the final minute hath been laid
Upon thy nineteen Springs. Aye, be dismayed
To see the Fourth Part of thy utmost Span
Now spent! What then? Affrighted dost thou plan
To crowd the Rest with Action, every whit?
Ev'n so essay; but know thou canst not knit
Thy web of hours so close as to regain
E'en one lost stitch! For ever gaps remain!'
Hereat it ceased; for now a second Shade
Caught all my senses to't; no sound it made;
No form it had; but quietly it drew
Its tightening hand of Pain through every thew
Of my frail body.... Pain?---Why Pain today?
Sure, not a taste of what this tingling clay
Shall suffer through the year? And yet, if so,
'Twill be but my most rightful share, I trow,
Scarce worse than the keen hunger-pinch that racks
Numberless wretches all their life. Pain slacks
Its hold on one, only to grasp another;
And why should I be spared, and not my brother?
So thinking, quickly I pass the day. And lo!
What kindnesses the Friends around me show!
How many eyes in warm solicitude
Have smiled upon me! Tongues that have been rude
Are gentle now. ... Yet still, how do I miss
Thine eyes, thy voice, my Mother! Oft I kiss
Thy portrait, and I clutch thy letter dear
As if it were thy hand
At this, fresh cheer
Comes over me; and now upon my couch
Of ruby velvet, o'er the fire I crouch
In full content. I only pause from reading
To scribble these few lines; or, scarcely heeding
The dismal damp abroad, to mock the rain
Shooting its sleety balls at me in vain.
---Ho, thus, methinks, hereafter, when the weak
Creations of a Mental Mist shall seek
To quench my soul, I'll thwart them by the shield
Of crystal Hope!
For there have been revealed
Heart-secrets since the coming of this day,
Making me thankful for its thorn-paved way.
Among them this: 'No joy is comparable
Unto the Melting---soft and gradual---
Of Torture's needles in the flesh. To sail
Smoothly from out the abysmal anguish-jail
And tread the placid plains of normal ease
Is sweeter far, I deem, than all the glees
Which we may catch by mounting higher still
Into the dangerous air where actual Bliss doth thrill.'
Two Spirits woke me from my sleep this morn;
Both most unwelcome were; for they have torn
Away from me the shady screens of ease
And unreflecting, unself-scanning Peace
Wherein I used to hide me from annoy
In years which found and left me still a Boy.
The First rose solemn, with a Voice of stern
Monition; and it said: 'Look back! and learn
To number life by moments, not by years;
Know that thy youth to its completion nears.
This night the final minute hath been laid
Upon thy nineteen Springs. Aye, be dismayed
To see the Fourth Part of thy utmost Span
Now spent! What then? Affrighted dost thou plan
To crowd the Rest with Action, every whit?
Ev'n so essay; but know thou canst not knit
Thy web of hours so close as to regain
E'en one lost stitch! For ever gaps remain!'
Hereat it ceased; for now a second Shade
Caught all my senses to't; no sound it made;
No form it had; but quietly it drew
Its tightening hand of Pain through every thew
Of my frail body.... Pain?---Why Pain today?
Sure, not a taste of what this tingling clay
Shall suffer through the year? And yet, if so,
'Twill be but my most rightful share, I trow,
Scarce worse than the keen hunger-pinch that racks
Numberless wretches all their life. Pain slacks
Its hold on one, only to grasp another;
And why should I be spared, and not my brother?
So thinking, quickly I pass the day. And lo!
What kindnesses the Friends around me show!
How many eyes in warm solicitude
Have smiled upon me! Tongues that have been rude
Are gentle now. ... Yet still, how do I miss
Thine eyes, thy voice, my Mother! Oft I kiss
Thy portrait, and I clutch thy letter dear
As if it were thy hand
At this, fresh cheer
Comes over me; and now upon my couch
Of ruby velvet, o'er the fire I crouch
In full content. I only pause from reading
To scribble these few lines; or, scarcely heeding
The dismal damp abroad, to mock the rain
Shooting its sleety balls at me in vain.
---Ho, thus, methinks, hereafter, when the weak
Creations of a Mental Mist shall seek
To quench my soul, I'll thwart them by the shield
Of crystal Hope!
For there have been revealed
Heart-secrets since the coming of this day,
Making me thankful for its thorn-paved way.
Among them this: 'No joy is comparable
Unto the Melting---soft and gradual---
Of Torture's needles in the flesh. To sail
Smoothly from out the abysmal anguish-jail
And tread the placid plains of normal ease
Is sweeter far, I deem, than all the glees
Which we may catch by mounting higher still
Into the dangerous air where actual Bliss doth thrill.'
Identifier
3336.txt
Creator
Owen, Wilfred (1893-1918)
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Date
1912-03-18
Type
Poem
Publisher
The First World War Poetry Digital Archive
Source
The Complete Poems and Fragments of Wilfred Owen edited by Jon Stallworthy first published by Chatto & Windus, 1983
(#13, CPF vol. 1, pp. 11-12, vol. 2, p. 199)
OEF 15, 16, 17, and 18; OEF 19, 20, 21
(#13, CPF vol. 1, pp. 11-12, vol. 2, p. 199)
OEF 15, 16, 17, and 18; OEF 19, 20, 21
