1Halted against the shade of a last hill,
2They fed, and, lying easy, were at ease
3And, finding comfortable chests and knees
4Carelessly slept.
5 But many there stood still
6To face the stark, blank sky beyond the ridge,
7Knowing their feet had come to the end of the world.
8Marvelling they stood, and watched the long grass swirled
9By the May breeze, murmurous with wasp and midge,
10For though the summer oozed into their veins
11Like the injected drug for their bones' pains,
12Sharp on their souls hung the imminent line of grass,
13Fearfully flashed the sky's mysterious glass.
14Hour after hour they ponder the warm field—
15And the far valley behind, where the buttercups
16Had blessed with gold their slow boots coming up,
17Where even the little brambles would not yield,
18But clutched and clung to them like sorrowing hands;
19They breathe like trees unstirred.
20Till like a cold gust thrilled the little word
21At which each body and its soul begird
22And tighten them for battle. No alarms
23Of bugles, no high flags, no clamorous haste—
24Only a lift and flare of eyes that faced
25The sun, like a friend with whom their love is done.
26O larger shone that smile against the sun,—
27Mightier than his whose bounty these have spurned.
28So, soon they topped the hill, and raced together
29Over an open stretch of herb and heather
30Exposed. And instantly the whole sky burned
31With fury against them; and soft sudden cups
32Opened in thousands for their blood; and the green slopes
33Chasmed and steepened sheer to infinite space.
34Of them who running on that last high place
35Leapt to swift unseen bullets, or went up
36On the hot blast and fury of hell’s upsurge,
37Or plunged and fell away past this world’s verge,
38Some say God caught them even before they fell.
39But what say such as from existence' brink
40Ventured but drave too swift to sink.
41The few who rushed in the body to enter hell,
42And there out-fiending all its fiends and flames
43With superhuman inhumanities,
44Long-famous glories, immemorial shames—
45And crawling slowly back, have by degrees
46Regained cool peaceful air in wonder—
47Why speak they not of comrades that went under?
1Halted against the shade of a last hill,
2They fed, and, lying easy, were at ease
3And, finding comfortable chests and knees
4Carelessly slept.
5 But many there stood still
6To face the stark, blank sky beyond the ridge,
7Knowing their feet had come to the end of the world.
8Marvelling they stood, and watched the long grass swirled
9By the May breeze, murmurous with wasp and midge,
10For though the summer oozed into their veins
11Like the injected drug for their bones' pains,
12Sharp on their souls hung the imminent line of grass,
13Fearfully flashed the sky's mysterious glass.
14Hour after hour they ponder the warm field—
15And the far valley behind, where the buttercups
16Had blessed with gold their slow boots coming up,
17Where even the little brambles would not yield,
18But clutched and clung to them like sorrowing hands;
19They breathe like trees unstirred.
20Till like a cold gust thrilled the little word
21At which each body and its soul begird
22And tighten them for battle. No alarms
23Of bugles, no high flags, no clamorous haste—
24Only a lift and flare of eyes that faced
25The sun, like a friend with whom their love is done.
26O larger shone that smile against the sun,—
27Mightier than his whose bounty these have spurned.
28So, soon they topped the hill, and raced together
29Over an open stretch of herb and heather
30Exposed. And instantly the whole sky burned
31With fury against them; and soft sudden cups
32Opened in thousands for their blood; and the green slopes
33Chasmed and steepened sheer to infinite space.
34Of them who running on that last high place
35Leapt to swift unseen bullets, or went up
36On the hot blast and fury of hell’s upsurge,
37Or plunged and fell away past this world’s verge,
38Some say God caught them even before they fell.
39But what say such as from existence' brink
40Ventured but drave too swift to sink.
41The few who rushed in the body to enter hell,
42And there out-fiending all its fiends and flames
43With superhuman inhumanities,
44Long-famous glories, immemorial shames—
45And crawling slowly back, have by degrees
46Regained cool peaceful air in wonder—
47Why speak they not of comrades that went under?
Halted against the shade of a last hill,
They fed, and, lying easy, were at ease
And, finding comfortable chests and knees
Carelessly slept.
But many there stood still
To face the stark, blank sky beyond the ridge,
Knowing their feet had come to the end of the world.
Marvelling they stood, and watched the long grass swirled
By the May breeze, murmurous with wasp and midge,
For though the summer oozed into their veins
Like the injected drug for their bones' pains,
Sharp on their souls hung the imminent line of grass,
Fearfully flashed the sky's mysterious glass.
Hour after hour they ponder the warm field—
And the far valley behind, where the buttercups
Had blessed with gold their slow boots coming up,
Where even the little brambles would not yield,
But clutched and clung to them like sorrowing hands;
They breathe like trees unstirred.
Till like a cold gust thrilled the little word
At which each body and its soul begird
And tighten them for battle. No alarms
Of bugles, no high flags, no clamorous haste—
Only a lift and flare of eyes that faced
The sun, like a friend with whom their love is done.
O larger shone that smile against the sun,—
Mightier than his whose bounty these have spurned.
So, soon they topped the hill, and raced together
Over an open stretch of herb and heather
Exposed. And instantly the whole sky burned
With fury against them; and soft sudden cups
Opened in thousands for their blood; and the green slopes
Chasmed and steepened sheer to infinite space.
Of them who running on that last high place
Leapt to swift unseen bullets, or went up
On the hot blast and fury of hell’s upsurge,
Or plunged and fell away past this world’s verge,
Some say God caught them even before they fell.
But what say such as from existence' brink
Ventured but drave too swift to sink.
The few who rushed in the body to enter hell,
And there out-fiending all its fiends and flames
With superhuman inhumanities,
Long-famous glories, immemorial shames—
And crawling slowly back, have by degrees
Regained cool peaceful air in wonder—
Why speak they not of comrades that went under?
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
The Poet's Life and Work — Read the Poetry Foundation's short biography of Wilfred Owen.
The Poem Aloud — Listen to a reading of "Spring Offensive."
Owen and WWI — A short video feature about the poet and the war.
Remembering Owen — A BBC film on Wilfred Owen's legacy.
Voices of WWI — Soldiers' firsthand accounts of the German Spring Offensive.
More about the "Spring Offensive" — Read about the German Spring Offensive of 1918.