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Exposure
Exposure
BY WILFRED OWEN
Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knive us . . .
Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent . . .
Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . . .
Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous,
But nothing happens.
Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire,
Like twitching agonies of men among its brambles.
Northward, incessantly, the flickering gunnery rumbles,
Far off, like a dull rumour of some other war.
What are we doing here?
The poignant misery of dawn begins to grow . . .
We only know war lasts, rain soaks, and clouds sag stormy.
Dawn massing in the east her melancholy army
Attacks once more in ranks on shivering ranks of grey,
But nothing happens.
Sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence.
Less deadly than the air that shudders black with snow,
With sidelong flowing flakes that flock, pause, and renew,
We watch them wandering up and down the wind's nonchalance,
But nothing happens.
Pale flakes with fingering stealth come feeling for our faces—
We cringe in holes, back on forgotten dreams, and stare, snow-dazed,
Deep into grassier ditches. So we drowse, sun-dozed,
Littered with blossoms trickling where the blackbird fusses.
—Is it that we are dying?
Slowly our ghosts drag home: glimpsing the sunk fires, glozed
With crusted dark-red jewels; crickets jingle there;
For hours the innocent mice rejoice: the house is theirs;
Shutters and doors, all closed: on us the doors are closed,—
We turn back to our dying.
Since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn;
Now ever suns smile true on child, or field, or fruit.
For God's invincible spring our love is made afraid;
Therefore, not loath, we lie out here; therefore were born,
For love of God seems dying.
Tonight, this frost will fasten on this mud and us,
Shrivelling many hands, and puckering foreheads crisp.
The burying-party, picks and shovels in shaking grasp,
Pause over half-known faces. All their eyes are ice,
But nothing happens.
BY WILFRED OWEN
Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knive us . . .
Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent . . .
Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . . .
Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous,
But nothing happens.
Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire,
Like twitching agonies of men among its brambles.
Northward, incessantly, the flickering gunnery rumbles,
Far off, like a dull rumour of some other war.
What are we doing here?
The poignant misery of dawn begins to grow . . .
We only know war lasts, rain soaks, and clouds sag stormy.
Dawn massing in the east her melancholy army
Attacks once more in ranks on shivering ranks of grey,
But nothing happens.
Sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence.
Less deadly than the air that shudders black with snow,
With sidelong flowing flakes that flock, pause, and renew,
We watch them wandering up and down the wind's nonchalance,
But nothing happens.
Pale flakes with fingering stealth come feeling for our faces—
We cringe in holes, back on forgotten dreams, and stare, snow-dazed,
Deep into grassier ditches. So we drowse, sun-dozed,
Littered with blossoms trickling where the blackbird fusses.
—Is it that we are dying?
Slowly our ghosts drag home: glimpsing the sunk fires, glozed
With crusted dark-red jewels; crickets jingle there;
For hours the innocent mice rejoice: the house is theirs;
Shutters and doors, all closed: on us the doors are closed,—
We turn back to our dying.
Since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn;
Now ever suns smile true on child, or field, or fruit.
For God's invincible spring our love is made afraid;
Therefore, not loath, we lie out here; therefore were born,
For love of God seems dying.
Tonight, this frost will fasten on this mud and us,
Shrivelling many hands, and puckering foreheads crisp.
The burying-party, picks and shovels in shaking grasp,
Pause over half-known faces. All their eyes are ice,
But nothing happens.
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About the author
Wilfred Owen
178 books235 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the goodreads data base.
Wilfred Owen was a defining voice of British poetry during the First World War, renowned for his stark portrayals of trench warfare and gas attacks. Deeply influenced by Siegfried Sassoon, whom he met while recovering from shell shock, Owen’s work departed from the patriotic war verse of the time, instead conveying the brutal reality of combat and the suffering of soldiers. Among his best-known poems are Dulce et Decorum est, Anthem for Doomed Youth, and Strange Meeting—many of which were published only after his death.
Born in 1893 in Shropshire, Owen developed an early passion for poetry and religion, both of which would shape his artistic and moral worldview. He worked as a teacher and spent time in France before enlisting in the British Army in 1915. After a traumatic experience at the front, he was treated for shell shock at Craiglockhart War Hospital, where Sassoon’s mentorship helped refine his poetic voice.
Owen returned to active service in 1918, determined to bear witness to the horrors of war. He was killed in action just one week before the Armistice. Though only a few of his poems were published during his lifetime, his posthumous collections cemented his legacy as one of the greatest war poets in English literature. His work continues to be studied for its powerful combination of romantic lyricism and brutal realism, as well as its complex engagement with themes of faith, duty, and identity.
Wilfred Owen was a defining voice of British poetry during the First World War, renowned for his stark portrayals of trench warfare and gas attacks. Deeply influenced by Siegfried Sassoon, whom he met while recovering from shell shock, Owen’s work departed from the patriotic war verse of the time, instead conveying the brutal reality of combat and the suffering of soldiers. Among his best-known poems are Dulce et Decorum est, Anthem for Doomed Youth, and Strange Meeting—many of which were published only after his death.
Born in 1893 in Shropshire, Owen developed an early passion for poetry and religion, both of which would shape his artistic and moral worldview. He worked as a teacher and spent time in France before enlisting in the British Army in 1915. After a traumatic experience at the front, he was treated for shell shock at Craiglockhart War Hospital, where Sassoon’s mentorship helped refine his poetic voice.
Owen returned to active service in 1918, determined to bear witness to the horrors of war. He was killed in action just one week before the Armistice. Though only a few of his poems were published during his lifetime, his posthumous collections cemented his legacy as one of the greatest war poets in English literature. His work continues to be studied for its powerful combination of romantic lyricism and brutal realism, as well as its complex engagement with themes of faith, duty, and identity.
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
November 14, 2025
alexa, play 'epiphany' by taylor swift.
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December 30, 2025Referencing the agonizingly long periods of battle inactivity interrupted by sporadic fighting, an adage of World War I describes the soldiers’ experience as “interminable boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror.” Despite the breaks in physical warfare, soldiers continued to experience an internal battle as a result of the emotional distress inflicted by the horrors of war. Transpiring during a silent night in a trench Wilfred Owen’s “Exposure” explores the baneful effects anticipation of action can have on soldiers, shown by the speaker’s uneasiness as he waits for something to happen and disrupt the still night. Taking advantage of the negative connotations usually connected to nighttime and cold weather, Owen conveys the universal theme of man versus nature and its broader implications during wartime. Relying on intense, visceral imagery, Owen skillfully delivers the sense of dread the speaker holds regarding the unstoppable force of war and its physical and psychological power over his mind. Through the inclusion of personified images of natural elements, Owen employs the implacable forces of nature as a metaphor for the equally formidable forces of war.
The constant activity of the natural elements is used as an extended metaphor for the ongoing impact war has on soldiers, even when they are not actively fighting. Through the personification of nature in the opening stanza, the speaker creates a suspenseful and nerve-wracking atmosphere. As they wait in the trench, the speaker remarks that he and his fellow soldiers are attacked by “the merciless iced east winds that knife…” (ln 1). The word choice of “merciless” and “knife” depicts the cold weather as intentionally cruel, as if nature means harm to the soldiers. Although the weather is depicted as harsh, almost unforgiving, the men “keep awake because the night is silent” rather than because of the cold temperature or incessant winds (ln 2). The literary choice to follow the quotes with the ellipses, signaling a prolongation of the idea, perhaps supports the idea that weather is continuous in its impact on men. In extension, it can be argued that the elliptical nature of the lines also conveys the ongoing effects of war; even as “nothing happens”, the soldiers remain nervous over the expectation of something disrupting the still night.
The silence acts as a physical symbol of the lack of fighting, a motif present throughout the poem as the source of the speaker’s agitation. Expanding on the metaphor, the devastation and fear invoked by the forces of nature serve as a symbol for the physical and psychological forces of war. In the last two stanzas, the speaker’s dread shifts into a crisis of faith, as he remarks that the “love of God seems dying” (ln 35). Furthermore, it is suggested that this loss of faith is a direct result of the power of God and nature, from which the soldiers’ “love is made afraid” (ln 33). The speaker again refers to these events as if they are purposefully crafted by some higher being, whether it be God or Mother Nature. The harsh weather creates turmoil inside the soldiers’ minds as they question why they are subjected to these occurrences and why “nothing happens” to save or aid them (ln 40). Following the assumption that the speaker is using the physical forces of nature as a stand-in for the forces of war, the speaker could be referring to the soldiers’ feelings that nobody can save them from their eventual fates of death, a belief highlighted by the occurrence of the night’s eventual “burying-party” (ln 38). Even if saved from death, the mental and emotional trauma the men will face as a result of their service will forever haunt them.
Owen effectively creates tension by describing the soldiers’ anxiousness waiting for something to happen, and their frustration when nothing does. The speaker uses natural imagery to express his fear and discomfort about the constant physical and psychological toll of war on himself and his comrades, using the continual forces of nature as an extended metaphor.
The constant activity of the natural elements is used as an extended metaphor for the ongoing impact war has on soldiers, even when they are not actively fighting. Through the personification of nature in the opening stanza, the speaker creates a suspenseful and nerve-wracking atmosphere. As they wait in the trench, the speaker remarks that he and his fellow soldiers are attacked by “the merciless iced east winds that knife…” (ln 1). The word choice of “merciless” and “knife” depicts the cold weather as intentionally cruel, as if nature means harm to the soldiers. Although the weather is depicted as harsh, almost unforgiving, the men “keep awake because the night is silent” rather than because of the cold temperature or incessant winds (ln 2). The literary choice to follow the quotes with the ellipses, signaling a prolongation of the idea, perhaps supports the idea that weather is continuous in its impact on men. In extension, it can be argued that the elliptical nature of the lines also conveys the ongoing effects of war; even as “nothing happens”, the soldiers remain nervous over the expectation of something disrupting the still night.
The silence acts as a physical symbol of the lack of fighting, a motif present throughout the poem as the source of the speaker’s agitation. Expanding on the metaphor, the devastation and fear invoked by the forces of nature serve as a symbol for the physical and psychological forces of war. In the last two stanzas, the speaker’s dread shifts into a crisis of faith, as he remarks that the “love of God seems dying” (ln 35). Furthermore, it is suggested that this loss of faith is a direct result of the power of God and nature, from which the soldiers’ “love is made afraid” (ln 33). The speaker again refers to these events as if they are purposefully crafted by some higher being, whether it be God or Mother Nature. The harsh weather creates turmoil inside the soldiers’ minds as they question why they are subjected to these occurrences and why “nothing happens” to save or aid them (ln 40). Following the assumption that the speaker is using the physical forces of nature as a stand-in for the forces of war, the speaker could be referring to the soldiers’ feelings that nobody can save them from their eventual fates of death, a belief highlighted by the occurrence of the night’s eventual “burying-party” (ln 38). Even if saved from death, the mental and emotional trauma the men will face as a result of their service will forever haunt them.
Owen effectively creates tension by describing the soldiers’ anxiousness waiting for something to happen, and their frustration when nothing does. The speaker uses natural imagery to express his fear and discomfort about the constant physical and psychological toll of war on himself and his comrades, using the continual forces of nature as an extended metaphor.
January 27, 2021
A very good poem
December 7, 2021
Absolutely fucking phenomenal
December 9, 2021
Wilfy-boy 😫 😫 😫
May 25, 2022
Read poem during GCSE. I enjoy picking apart poems and finding the meanings or what it could mean and this poem was one of them. It provided me with a lot of quotes to disuss in my writing.
November 21, 2025
All his work is amazing
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews