The Dead-Beat
by Wilfred Owen

English poet. Now considered as one of the finest English 'war poets', he remained relatively unknown until an edition of his poems was published in 1931 with a Memoir in by Edmund Blunden. Previously his poetry had been collected and published in 1920 by Owen's friend, the poet Siegfried Sassoon.

Most of his work was produced between the years 1915 and 1918 and detailed his horrific experiences in the trenches during World War I. 'The Collected Poems' were published in 1963 and were chosen by the composer Britten for his 'War Requiem'.

Other 'war poets' include Rupert Brooke and Siegfried Sassoon.

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The Dead-Beat
by Wilfred Owen

He dropped, - more sullenly than wearily,
Lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat,
And none of us could kick him to his feet;
- Just blinked at my revolver, blearily;
- Didn't appear to know a war was on,
Or see the blasted trench at which he stared.
'I'll do 'em in,' he whined, 'if this hand's spared,
I'll murder them, I will.'

A low voice said,
'It's Blighty, p'raps, he sees; his pluck's all gone,
Dreaming of all the valiant, that aren't dead:
Bold uncles, smiling ministerially;
Maybe his brave young wife, getting her fun
In some new home, improved materially.
It's not these stiffs have crazed him; nor the Hun.'

We sent him down at last, out of the way.
Unwounded; - stout lad, too, before that strafe.
Malingering? Stretcher-bearers winked, 'Not half!'

Next day I heard the Doc.'s well-whiskied laugh:
'That scum you sent last night soon died. Hooray!'

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The Dead-Beat by Wilfred Owen