Futility
Wilfred Owen
1893 to 1918
Track 1
Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. Take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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Until this morning and this snow.
To break earth's sleep at all?
Full-nerved, still warm, too hard to stir?
Move him into the sun—
Always it woke him, even in France,
Woke once the clays of a cold star.
Think how it wakes the seeds—
If anything might rouse him now
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Gently its touch awoke him once,
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
The kind old sun will know.