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Suddenly, night crushed out the day and hurled

the remnants of the light behind the wald

then fell a stillness such as harks appalled

when the far gone dead return upon the world

there watched i for the dead, but not one sleeper woke,

each one whom life exiled i named and called

but they were all too far or dumb or thralled

and never one fared back to me or spoke

then peered, the indefinite unshapen dawn

the vacant gloam as sad as half-lit minds

the weak-limned hour when sick mens sighs are drained

and as i wondered on them being withdrawn

the smothering dark which none unbinds

i dreaded even a realm with doors so chained

Written by: Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)