Futility
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Futility (noun) = uselessness / pointlessness / senselessness . Futility. By Wilfred Owen. Futility… WWI. Soldiers in WWI (German and British) who have frozen to death. Futility in WWI. Key Vocabulary. More key vocabulary…. Read the text. Futility Move him into the sun—

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Futility

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Futility (noun) = uselessness / pointlessness / senselessness

Futility

By

Wilfred Owen


Futility… WWI

Soldiers in WWI (German and British) who have frozen to death


Futility in WWI


Key Vocabulary


More key vocabulary…


Read the text

Futility

Move him into the sun—

Gently its touch awoke him once,

At home, whispering of fields unsown.

Always it awoke him, even in France,

Until this morning and this snow.

If anything might rouse him now

The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds—

Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.

Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides

Full-nerved,- still warm,- too hard to stir?

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil

To break earth's sleep at all?


imperative

2. Copy the poem.

3. Find an example of each

of these 10 language

features and label:

  • imperative

  • personification

  • repetition

  • rhyme

  • rhetorical question

  • metaphor

  • parallel construction

  • antithesis

  • caesura

  • enjambement

Futility

Move him into the sun—

Gently its touch awoke him once,

At home, whispering of fields unsown.

Always it awoke him, even in France,

Until this morning and this snow.

If anything might rouse him now

The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds—

Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.

Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides

Full-nerved,- still warm,- too hard to stir?

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil

To break earth's sleep at all?

By Wilfred Owen


Futility

Move him into the sun—

Gently its touch awoke him once,

At home, whispering of fields unsown.

Always it awoke him, even in France,

Until this morning and this snow.

If anything might rouse him now

The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds—

Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.

Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides

Full-nerved,- still warm,- too hard to stir?

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil

To break earth's sleep at all?

4. It is a sonnet.


rhetorical questions.

Futility

Move him into the sun—

Gently its touch awoke him once,

At home, whispering of fields unsown.

Always it awoke him, even in France,

Until this morning and this snow.

If anything might rouse him now

The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds—

Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.

Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides

Full-nerved,- still warm,- too hard to stir?

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil

To break earth's sleep at all?


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