Disabled
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the parkVoices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,Voices of play and pleasure after day,Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gayWhen glow-lamps budded in the light-blue treesAnd girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,--In the old times, before he threw away his knees.Now he will never feel again how slimGirls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face,For it was younger than his youth, last year.Now he is old; his back will never brace;He's lost his colour very far from here,Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,After the matches carried shoulder-high.It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . .Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts.
That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fearsOf Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hiltsFor daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.Only a solemn man who brought him fruitsThanked him; and then inquired about his soul.Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,And do what things the rules consider wise,And take whatever pity they may dole.To-night he noticed how the women's eyesPassed from him to the strong men that were whole.How cold and late it is! Why don't they comeAnd put him into bed? Why don't they come?
Words in this poem
- legless a.
- Not having a leg.
- mothered a.
- Thick, like mother; viscid.
- artist n.
- One who practices some mechanic art or craft; an artisan. [F. artiste, LL. artista, fr. L. ars. See Art, n., and cf. Artiste.]
- lifetime n.
- The time that life continues.
- lapsed a.
- Having slipped downward, backward, or away; having lost position, privilege, etc., by neglect; -- restricted to figurative uses.
- maybe adv.
- Perhaps; possibly; peradventure. [For it may be.]
- wrote v. i.
- To root with the snout. See 1st Root. [OE. wroten. See 1st Root.]
- corps n.
- The human body, whether living or dead. See Corpse, 1. [F., fr. L. corpus body. See Corpse.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Disabled is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #1034; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Wilfred Owen, Disabled, in Poems (1920), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1034, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/owen-poems/disabled.html, id L04684.
Form and metre
Disabled is 45 lines in 5 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 87%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.2 syllables. 20% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABACBC darkA · greyB · parkA · hymnC · dayB · himC
- 2 BDCDC-D gayB · treesD · dimC · kneesD · slimC · hands · diseaseD
- 3 EFEFGEGHGHGI faceE · yearF · braceE · hereF · dryG · raceE · thighG · legH · highG · pegH · whyG · kiltsI
- 4 H-HJJIKJKJ megH · jilts · begH · yearsJ · fearsJ · hiltsI · salutesK · arrearsJ · recruitsK · cheersJ
- 5 LKLKMLML-- goalL · fruitsK · soulL · institutesK · wiseM · doleL · eyesM · wholeL · come · come
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark, | 10 | ······/˘·· |
| And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park | 10 | /˘···/···· |
| Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn, | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| Voices of play and pleasure after day, | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| About this time Town used to swing so gay | 10 | ·········· |
| When glow-lamps budded in the light-blue trees | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim, | 11 | ··········· |
| --In the old times, before he threw away his knees. | 12 | ········˘/·· |
| Now he will never feel again how slim | 10 | ···/˘·˘/·· |
| Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| All of them touch him like some queer disease. | 10 | ········˘/ |
| There was an artist silly for his face, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| For it was younger than his youth, last year. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Now he is old; his back will never brace; | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| He's lost his colour very far from here, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry, | 10 | ·········· |
| And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race, | 10 | ···/······ |
| And leap of purple spurted from his thigh. | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg, | 10 | ·········· |
| After the matches carried shoulder-high. | 10 | ···/˘/˘/˘· |
| It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg, | 11 | ····/······ |
| He thought he'd better join. He wonders why . . . | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts. | 10 | /········· |
| That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| He asked to join. He didn't have to beg; | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years. | 10 | /˘·····//· |
| Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fears | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| Of Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hilts | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes; | 10 | ·/˘·····˘/ |
| And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears; | 10 | ········˘/ |
| Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits. | 10 | ˘/······˘/ |
| And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers. | 11 | ····/˘····· |
| Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal. | 10 | ·········· |
| Only a solemn man who brought him fruits | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul. | 10 | ····˘/···· |
| Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes, | 12 | ·········/˘· |
| And do what things the rules consider wise, | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| And take whatever pity they may dole. | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| To-night he noticed how the women's eyes | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Passed from him to the strong men that were whole. | 10 | ·········· |
| How cold and late it is! Why don't they come | 10 | ·········· |
| And put him into bed? Why don't they come? | 10 | ·········· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.